The Triumph of These Tired Eyes
by AnarchicMuse
Summary: In the several millennia he had existed Loki Odinson, Norse God of Mischief and Lies, had been many things, he had been a liar, a warrior, and a trickster, just to name a few, but never before, in his thousands of years of existence had he been a loving father, but all it took was a single glance at the perfect little creature before him and knew, he was gone.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Alright, here we go, it's been awhile since I've posted anything on Fanfiction so I'm a bit excited (more than just a bit). This story is a product of countless hours of sweat, tears, and metaphorical blood, but it couldn't have happened without Payne's Gray, who gave me permission to adopt her wonderful one-shot, Mortal Blood from her one-shot collection Bunnies in Hats, and for wickedlfairy17, whose story Blended Blood, which is also an adaptation of Payne's Gray's Mortal Blood, helped a great deal inspiration wise. So thank you to both beautifully wonderful authors, and, without further ado, I present to you the result of several months worth of hardwork, The Triumph of These Tired Eyes.**

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**Disclaimer: We all know the drill, I in no way own Marvel's the Avengers nor J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter, I do this simply for my, and hopefully others', enjoyment.**

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_Creating a child takes no love or skill; being a parent requires lots of both._

_Michael Josephson_

In the several millennia he had existed Loki Odinson, Norse God of Mischief and Lies, had been many things, he had been a liar, a warrior, and a trickster, just to name a few, but never before, in his thousands of years of existence had he been a loving father. But looking down at his son, the perfect little creature that he was, he couldn't help but feel an irrefutable, irrevocable love for him. Harry, was his name, short for Haraldr Ivarr Kaden Lokison, a name fit for a king, and he looked so much like Loki it was actually somewhat frightening. With his silky, midnight black hair, his snow white skin and high aristocratic cheekbones, and emerald green eyes, shining with pure power, even at the age of ten months, he was an exact replica of a tiny Loki and the man couldn't help but love everything about him.

Gently, the god lifted the tiny child from his cot and cradled him in his arms, Harry cooed happily and waved a chubby fist up at his father.

"Hello, little one," Loki whispered as he slowly sat himself into the rocking chair beside the cot. "I'm your father, your _real _one."

"Gah," Harry replied cheerfully.

"Ah, you cannot speak yet, but do not worry, one day, you will inherit my silver tongue and be able to sway millions with your words alone."

"Ba ba ba ba."

Loki smiled, and ran a gentle hand over his son's head, unbidden to him, words sprang to his lips, and he began to softly sing a lullaby his mother once sang for him when he was a child.

_Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,_

_Smiles await you when you rise._

_Sleep,_

_Pretty baby,_

_Do not cry,_

_And I will sing a lullaby._

_Cares you know not,_

_Therefore sleep,_

_While over you a watch I'll keep._

_Sleep,_

_Pretty darling,_

_Do not cry,_

_And I will sing a lullaby__._

Just as Harry began to fall into a soft peaceful slumber, his tiny hand clutching onto a handful of Loki's tunic, the door burst open and two figures raced into the nursery.

"What the hell," Lily Potter shouted, but immediately quieted down to a whisper when Harry whimpered softly in Loki's arms, "_are you doing here_?"

Loki arched an eyebrow and stared unconcerned down the lengths of the two wands pointing directly at his heart. "Why, I'm here to see my son, of course."

Lily and James stared at the man in stunned surprise. "How did you-"

"Know about him? Come now, Lily, I am a _god_. I could feel it in my very bones the moment my son was born, did you truly believe that you could hide him from me?"

"It's been ten months, we didn't think you knew, or at least, didn't think you cared."

Loki ran an elegant finger along Harry's cheek. "He is my son, how could I not care? I was unable to come, however, because of several problems that have arisen in Asgard."

"How did you get past the wards?" James asked softly.

"Again, I am a god, your pathetic wards could not even hope to keep me away."

"But Dumbledore put them up," Lily whispered.

"And?"

"He is the most powerful wizard alive."

"And yet he is mortal, and I am not."

"You shouldn't be here."

Loki chuckled softly. "And why should I not be here?"

Lily glared venomously at the Norse god. "Because, you made it clear that I meant nothing to you, that I was merely a plaything, for you to pass the time with, and that you wanted nothing more to do with me once our little tryst was over."

"Need I remind you that it was _you_ who left _me_?"

"I was married, what we were doing was wrong."

"And yet that didn't stop you from sharing a bed with me night after night for over a fortnight."

"Why you-" James growled stalking angrily towards the man, only to be stopped by Lily's firm hand on his arm.

"Why couldn't you just leave us alone?" she whispered. "You had your fun with me, and now it's over."

"But it's not over, not as long as my blood runs through his veins. The child, no matter how much you do not wish to believe it, is my son, and so carries Asgardian blood."

Both Potters tensed at the reminder. "Does he- Is he immortal?" Lily asked hesitantly.

Loki looked thoughtfully down at Harry, who had, by then, fallen asleep. "I do not yet know for certain, only time will tell. He may very well be, or he could be just as mortal as you and your husband."

"How will we know?"

"Time, only time and patience will tell. There has never been a child like my son."

"Are you going to take him from us?"

Loki looked up in surprise at the two mortals, both were pale faced and clutching their wands, which now hung by their sides, tightly in their white knuckled grasps.

"I did not come here planning on taking my child, nor do I intend to now, no matter how much I long to."

"Why?" Lily asked suspiciously, although she seemed much more relaxed than she did several moments previous.

"My father," Loki said delicately, "he is not a very open minded being. If he discovers that I have had a son with a mortal he may very well wish to get rid of him before he grows to become a threat."

"Harry is his grandson."

"And I am his son, but he does not trust me, not as he does my brother," careful not to jostle his sleeping son, Loki rose to his feet and carefully placed Harry back in his cot. "It is now time for me to take my leave, my father will no doubt become suspicious if I am absent for much longer."

"If you could find Harry, what makes you think your father won't?" James asked.

"I have weaved a number of spells over my son, protection against enemies, shields to hide him from Asgard, he will be safe from my people, but not from yours," Loki gazed at James with startling intensity. "Protect him with your life."

James nodded firmly. "I will."

Loki nodded satisfied, then with one last glance at his son, disappeared in a flash of green and gold light.

Five months later, Lily and James died keeping their promise, and Harry became the only known person to survive the Killing Curse.

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**A/N: Prologue: complete. Phew *wipes brow*, that was a long time coming, this chapter has been sitting in my computer for a good year now, so it should be nice and mature like a fine wine or something . There shouldn't be much of a wait for the next chapter as I've already finished it, in fact I was a little cautious in writing this story and waited until I was well into my twelfth chapter before deciding that it's finally time to post this, call me paranoid but I'm sure you guys will appreciate it when I hit writer's block.**

**Anyway, feel free to tell me what you think, I'm not going to lie, I'm addicted to reviews and would love to have a few *hint hint*. Until next time, lovelies. **


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: I didn't plan on posting another chapter today, but I have received such an overwhelmingly positive response for the story I decided I might as well spoil my readers a bit and post it anyway. So, here you go lovelies, a gift for you.**

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**Disclaimer: Insert perfunctory disclaimer here. I own neither Harry Potter nor Marvel's Avengers. The end.**

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Five year old Harry James Potter lay curled in the snow that had fallen over the empty park on Privet Drive, trying futilely not to cry as he cradled his injured hand against his chest. It wasn't the first time he'd been punished, and it most certainly wouldn't be the last, but Uncle Vernon had never hurt him where the neighbors might see, he must have been angry, but then again, Harry _had_ been very bad. He hadn't meant to be, of course, but he couldn't help it, Aunt Petunia had woke him up extra early that morning because it was Christmas, and she wanted him to watch the bacon as she and Uncle Vernon brought Dudley's gifts in from the car. Harry had been distracted by the mountain of presents, steadily growing larger and larger under the tree in the living room, and had, as a result, accidently burnt the bacon. Uncle Vernon had been furious, that was the last of the bacon, and because it was Christmas day all of the markets were closed, so there was no hope of just running in and grabbing a few fresh pounds.

Upon seeing the burnt bacon, the livid man had commenced to remind Harry just how useless and how much of a waste of space he was, just like his no good slut of a mother and lazy bum father, in tones loud enough to wake everyone on Privet Drive. And when Harry, for the first time in some time, tried to defend himself and his dead parents, Vernon backhanded him across the face. The force of the blow threw his small body against the stove, he tried to catch himself, but that resulted in one hand falling directly into the pan of blackened bacon and scalding grease. Supremely unconcerned over what could end up being a serious injury, Vernon threw the sobbing boy out onto the front walk with the orders not to come back until he'd learned his lesson, which led to the five year old finding himself sitting in the abandoned play park trying to soothe the burning pain in his left hand.

"What are you doing out here in this weather, child?"

Harry yelped in surprise, and leapt to his feet turning on unsteady legs to face the direction the unexpected question had come from.

To his surprise, a man stood not even five feet away, he was tall and elegant looking, his shiny black hair was pulled into a short ponytail at the back of his head and an expensive coat was arranged neatly over his immaculate, black suit. He was staring at Harry with an inquisitive expression on his handsome face, and with a start, Harry realized that he was waiting for an answer to a question he hadn't heard.

"I'm sorry sir, what did you say?" Harry asked meekly.

"I was asking why you are out in this cold weather without a winter coat."

Harry looked down at himself and realized, that he _wasn't_ wearing a coat, Uncle Vernon had kicked him out of the house before he could even get dressed, leaving him in nothing but a pair of Dudley's too big pajamas and a pair of socks that were soaked through with melted snow.

"I left before Auntie and Uncle could make me, I don't get cold very easily," Harry lied, or at least the first part was. He actually didn't get cold very easily, it was always something his relatives had chalked up to his many abnormalities, Harry could stay outside in below freezing temperatures for hours on end and only get a mild chill.

The stranger raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? But why, pray tell, would you be out here in the first place? Is it not Christmas morning? You should be inside, opening presents and celebrating with your family."

Harry had no answer for this.

"Do your aunt and uncle even know you are out here?"

"Yes, sir, they do."

"And they let you come out, without proper clothing, no coat, and no shoes?"

"I told you-"

"I know what you told me, child, but I am very good at spotting lies."

Harry flinched, and hastily backed away, expecting to be hit for daring to tell a lie. "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lie, but if Uncle Vernon found out I told you the truth he'd-he…" the five year was unable to finish his sentence, terrified of whatever his uncle had threatened to do to him.

Something flashed across the man's eyes, but disappeared before Harry could make out the unfamiliar emotion. "Hush now," he said softly, slowly approaching Harry, and kneeling down on the ground in front of him, "I'm not angry with you, I just wish to know why you are out here."

"Uncle Vernon will be angry if I tell you," Harry whispered.

"Your uncle will never know, I promise."

The boy hesitated for a second, before seemingly gathering up his courage, "I got in trouble for burning the bacon, Uncle Vernon punished me, then told me to get out. I didn't have time to change or get a coat or shoes."

"He kicked you out of the house with nothing to ward off the mid-December cold because you _burned the bacon_?"

"I don't usually, but I was distracted by all of the presents," Harry defended himself, worried that the man would be disgusted with him for his folly.

"And how often do you cook breakfast?"

"Every morning, sir."

The stranger closed his eyes for a second and whispered something under his breath, before reaching out to take Harry's hands, but the moment he gripped them, the boy cried out in pain and hastily backed away, his left hand cradled protectively against his chest.

"What is it?" the man asked frantically. "What have I done?"

"Hurts," Harry whimpered.

"What hurts? Tell me child."

Harry didn't speak, wary of the repercussions that would come from him telling. He'd tried to tell the neighbors what Uncle Vernon did once, but they hadn't believed him and told Uncle Vernon of the "nasty lies" he was spreading. Several days after the hype had died down, Harry was beaten bloody and left in his cupboard for a week without food and only one bottle of water. He was sure if he told now, the punishment would be a hundred times worse.

"Please, tell me."

But then, it couldn't get much worse than this, and maybe, this stranger could help him.

_Or he could be like everyone else you've met._ A nasty little voice in the back of his head, whispered cruelly. But the five year old ruthlessly squashed his doubts, and, after taking a deep breath, held out his trembling hand.

The man sucked in a horrified breath as he took in the damage done to his little hand. In the thirty minutes or so Harry had been outside, his burned hand had swollen to twice its normal size and the seared skin had cracked in several different places and was oozing blood.

"Tell me everything that happened."

Harry only hesitated for a second before launching into his story, starting with the orders of watching the bacon, detailing his accident and the punishment that followed, and ending with his being thrown out and wandering to the park.

"Your uncle brutally mutilated you because, you, a five year old boy, could not properly watch the bacon. Can you even see the top of the stove?"

Harry shook his head. "Auntie got me a stool to stand on."

The man gently cradled Harry's injured in his own. "Does it hurt very badly?"

"No, it used to though, it hurt really bad, but I can't feel anything anymore."

"Can you wiggle your fingers for me?"

Harry tried to move his fingers, but gasped in pain the moment they moved even a fraction of an inch. "I can't," he whispered, tears filling his eyes.

"Hush now, it's alright," the man soothed, "I'll fix you up." he moved his hand so it hovered barely half an inch or so over Harry's, and murmured a word in a language the boy didn't understand.

Harry gasped when a soft golden glow engulfed his hand, and an itching sensation traveled across his skin, but his surprise was nothing when compared to the shock he felt when the glow disappeared and revealed his perfectly uninjured hand.

"How…?" he whispered.

"How did I do it?" the man finished his sentence for him. "Magic."

"But Uncle Vernon said there's no such thing as magic."

"Your uncle is a fool. Magic is very real."

Harry tilted his head curiously. "Can anyone do magic?"

"No, not everyone can use magic."

"Oh." Harry's shoulders visibly drooped, it would have been nice to turn Uncle Vernon into a frog like the witches he sometimes saw on the telly do.

"But you can, Harry."

"I can?" immediately he perked back up, there was almost a smile on his face. "How can you-" the boy stopped in his tracks and gave the stranger a suspicious look. "How do you know my name?"

"Pardon?"

"You called me, Harry, but I never told you my name."

Silently, the man cursed his slip up. "I-"

"Who are you?" the five year old asked. "What's your name?"

"I am called Loki."

"How do you know who I am, Mr. Loki?"

The god sighed softly to himself, before deciding to throw caution to the wind and to just jump right in. "I have known you since you were just a babe. I am your father, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "No, my father is dead. And so is my mummy, they both died when I was a baby."

"No, Harry, your mother and her husband died, I did not."

"Weren't you my mummy's husband?"

Loki shook his head. "No, your mother was already married when we met. His name was James and I don't think he liked me very much."

"Did you love my mummy?"

The god smiled softly. "Yes, I loved her, not in the same way James did, but I did love her. How could I not? She gave me you."

Harry stared hard at the man before him, trying to find some type of lie or deceit in his eyes, but he found none, just gentleness that made Harry want nothing more than to believe this man. But he couldn't, not yet. Years with the Dursleys had left his trust in adults more than just a bit tentative

"If you're my daddy, where have you been? Why do I live with Auntie and Uncle Vernon and not you?"

Loki sighed softly and reached out to smooth his hand over his son's hair. "You have no idea how much I wish could have been there for you, child, to watch as you grew into the fine young man you are today, and to protect you from those monsters you call family, but I was unable to. Things are far more complicated than you could understand."

"I might be able to, tell me." Harry said stubbornly.

Loki smiled. "Alright, if you are sure. I was not able to be there for you, because I do not hail from earth."

"So you're an alien?"

"That's one way of putting it." he laughed. "I come from a world called Asgard,"

"And it's on a different planet?"

"Not exactly." Loki thought for a moment before launching into an explanation of Asgard and all of the different worlds, when he had finished, Harry's face was a mask of shock and awe.

"Do you believe me now, little one?"

"Yes," Harry conceded. "But what do I call you?"

"Whatever you wish."

Harry hesitated for a few moments, biting his lip nervously. "Can I call you Daddy?"

Loki smiled softly at his son and reached out to run a hand along his baby soft cheek. "I would be honored if you did."

Harry smiled cherubically up at Loki. "Now that you're here, does that mean I can leave the Dursleys and live with you now, Daddy?"

The hopeful look Harry sent up to him tore at Loki's heart, but the desolate look that replaced it soon after was a thousand times worse. "I'm sorry, little one, but I cannot bring you with me. I cannot yet take you to Asgard, great problems would arise if I were to do so."

"So I have to stay with Aunt Tuney and Uncle Vernon?" tears filled Harry's eyes. "But I don't want to go back, they hurt me."

Loki closed his eyes, cursing the despicable mortals who even dared to lay a hand on his son, but he quickly reeled it in before his magic lashed out and accidentally hurt Harry. "What if," he said softly, "I taught you how to make sure your relatives never hurt you again?"

Immediately, the tears disappeared. "What would you teach me?" Harry asked curiously.

"Magic."

The emerald eyed boy nodded, delight and excitement evident in his eyes. "Yes please, Daddy."

Loki smiled warmly. "Well, we must get started, I won't be able to teach you it all today, but you are the son of god, it will not take you long to learn. And perhaps, in time, I will teach you how to be a prince. But before we begin anything, we must get you into better clothing," Loki placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder and almost immediately, his threadbare pajamas transformed themselves into a pair of thick black trousers, a navy blue sweater, and a black overcoat much like Loki's, with a pair of shiny black boots to warm his feet. "That should do it for the time being."

Harry looked up at Loki, awe shining in his eyes. "Thank you, Daddy." he whispered.

"Think nothing of it child," Loki smiled indulgently. "Now, shall we begin?"

Harry nodded eagerly.

"Alright, but you must promise me that you will not use your gifts on or in front of anyone other than me until I give you permission to do so. Do you promise, Harry?"

The little boy nodded solemnly and made an X over his heart.

"What was that?" Loki asked, mimicking the gesture.

"Crossed my heart." Harry replied.

"Crossed your heart?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye," Harry said. "It's a promise."

"A rather morbid promise," Loki smiled down at his son. "But no matter, so long as I have your word," the trickster god set up an invisible ward around the park to alert him if anyone were to do approach the park, it wouldn't do for some mortal to stumble upon him and Harry as they practiced magic. "Now, before we begin, I feel it prudent to warn you that I've never taught anyone before, at least not what I am about to teach you, so forgive me if you find that I am not as good at this as I've led myself to believe myself to be."

"Alright," Harry agreed.

"Alright," Loki mimicked. "Now that that is out of the way, I believe we can begin."

"Will you teach me how to turn Uncle Vernon into a frog?" the five year old boy requested tentatively, startling a laugh from his father.

"A frog? Wherever did you come up with such an idea?"

"The telly. Dudley was watching a program the other day about witches with warts on their noses and flying broomsticks, they could turn people into frogs, but Aunt Petunia made him turn it off."

Loki nodded seriously. "The idea does have its merits, I believe I could teach you that," the smile that seemed permanently stuck to his face widened when Harry eagerly nodded his head and took his father's hand.

"Oh _please,_ Daddy, if I can turn him into a frog Uncle Vernon will never be mean to me again."

"I will, but in order for me to teach you, you must learn to find and harness your magic."

"How do I do that?"

"Well, most mortal wand wielders, like your mother and her husband, have what they call magical cores, something that is usually described as an internal glowing orb of light that represents their very magic, however Asgardian magic, our magic is different, less limited than theirs. If you close your eyes and concentrate, you will find that your magic isn't restricted to one space, unlike the mortal's your magic flows through your blood, it shapes your bone and marrow and is intertwined with your very life force. You are just as much as part of your magic as it is a part of you, but that is only if you allow it. Can you feel it?"

Harry, who had closed his eyes midway through Loki's speech nodded slowly. "Yes," he breathed, "I can feel it," and he could. He could feel the magic coiled at the base of his spine pressing at an invisible barrier, straining to be freed.

Loki beamed proudly when he felt his son's magic ignite the air, he would be powerful. "Very good, sensing your magic is the first and most important lesson of learning how to harness and use it. You are very nearly there, little trickster." Harry's eyes remained closed, but he nodded, beaming at the praise "Now, can you feel the way it is straining, fighting against an invisible force?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"It's you. You must release your magic, stop fighting against it and allow it to fill your body, let it complete you."

Again, Harry nodded as he focused on his magic, on the way it battered desperately and relentlessly against some invisible force, he focused until he could literally see it waging its war against its unseen foe. The little boy took a shaky breath, being so aware of his magic brought forth every horrible memory of his uncle and his rants about the unordinary, and the cruel punishments he received whenever he displayed even the slightest of "abnormal tendencies". For as long as he could remember, Harry had been force fed hour long speeches of being "good, upstanding citizens" and how any signs of abnormality would leave him a homeless bum begging for scraps and spare change on the sidewalks of London in the dead cold of the winter. Whenever the subject came up, or anything related to it, Harry was ruthlessly informed that magic was not real and that anyone who believed differently should be treated with the utmost loathing, and slowly, he was beginning to conform to their beliefs, if only to lessen the beatings and days spent in his cupboard. But then he met Loki, a stranger who claimed to be his father, a stranger who healed him, made him feel safe and protected and _loved_, a stranger who, in a matter of minutes had completely destroyed his Dursley influenced beliefs. He was not worthless, someone _did_ love him, the Dursley's were wrong, magic was real. _Magic was real._

The thought made Harry feel giddy, it was real, magic was real and it was his own to command and if he could learn to control it, he would never be at the mercy of his cruel relatives again. And that was all it took, just the thought of no longer having to live in fear of his cousin's bullying and his uncle's rage and his aunt's loathing was enough to give him the willpower to absolutely destroy the wall holding his contained magic back.

The sudden rush of magic sent the five year old pitching forward, if it wasn't for Loki's arm waiting to catch him, he would have landed face first in the dirt.

"Are you alright, little trickster?" the older man asked worriedly as he soothingly ran a hand up and down his son's back.

Harry nodded, but burrowed himself into Loki's embrace, trembling lightly.

"It's quite a bit to take in, isn't it?"

Another nod.

"It is, but you have successfully completed the hardest part of your training, and I am proud of you, you are still just a babe but you have succeeded where hundreds of men before you were unable."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I have observed the few on Asgard who have not only the potential but the inclination and unbias to learn the subtle arts of magic, and very few have succeeded in doing what you just did on their first try. You are truly a son of Loki."

Harry's stick thin arms reached out and tentatively wrapped around Loki's waist. "I was always jealous of Dudley 'cuz he was Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's son, but I think this is better."

Loki placed a kiss on his son's hair. "It's nothing more than you deserve, little trickster," he murmured feeling an all too familiar flash of fury at the mere mention of the Dursleys and their abhorrent treatment toward Harry, in time the disgusting mortals would come to regret ever laying a hand on his son and they would regret it in the most painful way possible.

Shyly, Harry pulled back a couple of inches and looked up at Loki. "Will you teach me more?"

"Of course, I did promise to teach you how to turn your uncle into a frog, although a walrus may be a bit more fitting."

Harry giggled. "Or a whale."

The rest of the day was spent alternating between coming up with different animals to turn Vernon into, each more outlandish than the last, and lessons from Loki on the very basics of magic.

It was, in Harry's opinion, the best Christmas ever.

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Several hundred miles away from the little neighborhood nestled in the center of Little Whinging, Surrey's suburbia, in an uncharted forest, there was an explosion. The sound succeeding the explosion was deafening and the destruction left in its wake was devastating, however, there was no column of fire or mushroom cloud shooting into the air, only the spray of splinters from dozens upon dozens of trees, followed by the suffocating silence that signified the complete standstill of all life in the area.

For several seconds after the explosion, there was no noise or even the slightest movement, then, a man appeared from behind a tree that had remained relatively unharmed by the explosion and smiled as he examined the destruction the explosion had caused. In the center of the little forest he found himself standing in, there was a perfect circle of barren land, every last tree and blade of grass had been torn from their roots and blasted into oblivion with devastating force.

"Very good, Harry," Loki proudly complimented the eight year old child standing at the center of it all. "This is no doubt, your best work yet."

The raven haired boy smiled handsomely up at the man. "Thank you, Daddy,"

Loki allowed a rare smile to alight his face as he looked down at his son. It had been three years since Loki had revealed himself to Harry and begun to teach him about both the mortal and Asgardian magic he possessed, and in those three years, his son had learned how to control both with surprising ease as well as learning the customs and history of Asgard and all that was expected of a prince of Asgard. Needless to say, Loki was immensely proud of his son and all that he had accomplished, but even if the boy had been unable to learn anything or if he had the magic levels of a mere mortal Loki still would have been proud of him, simply because he was his son.

"I believe that I have taught you all that you are capable of learning at the moment," Loki said, gently leading Harry deeper into the woods and away from his personal ground zero. "Now we must wait for your invitation to your mother's school."

"That's so long away," Harry sighed.

"It's only three years, little trickster."

"I don't think I can survive three more years with the Dursleys."

Loki stiffened, Harry acted so mature for his age that at times he forgot that his son was still just a child and that the things his relatives put him through were not healthy. "Have they hurt you recently?" he asked softly.

"Vernon hit me yesterday," Harry said apathetically a sudden change from the happy, energetic boy that had been present not even seconds previous.

"Why?" Loki asked tightly.

"He was displeased because they can't find anyone to watch me while he, Petunia, and Dudley go on a day trip to London. Vernon was convinced that I had scared them all off with my _freakishness_, I didn't respond and was backhanded for my 'defiance'."

"And what do they plan to do with you while they go to London?"

"They're taking me with them."

"Good."

Harry raised a quizzical eyebrow at his father. "Why is it good?"

"Do you remember when I first began to teach you how to control your gifts, and what I made you promise?"

Harry nodded. "You made me promise to never use my gifts on or in front of anyone until you gave me permission to do so," Loki looked at his son expectantly and watched as slowly, realization dawned on his son's face. "Are you giving me permission?"

"Yes, little trickster, I am. I believe it is time that you taught your relatives why it is unwise to antagonize the son of Loki."

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Several days after the little scene in the woods, the Dursley family was found packing themselves away in their shiny new sports car and driving off for a day of fun in London, the fact that their disgrace of a nephew/cousin was forced to tag along took away from some of their fun, but they made sure to make up for it by assuring that they made little Harry as miserable as possible. The adult Dursley's bought their son every sweet his piggy eyes landed on, before taking him to a popular hamburger restaurant and ordering him half of the menu while only giving Harry a cup of water and a piece of lettuce discarded from one of Dudley's many sandwiches, when the Dursley's went to see a film, Harry was forced to sit on a bench outside of the theater and wait for them, and when Dudley attempted to clear both the local toy shop and his father's wallet, the Dursley child made sure to rub in the fact that his parents loved him enough to buy him expensive things while Harry's parents were dead.

However, throughout the day, the raven haired boy remained unfazed by his relatives cruel treatment, he took every insult and unfair act they threw with a little half smirk that Vernon promised to smack off of his face the moment they got home. But Harry knew he would never get the chance, by the time they arrived home, the Dursley's would have a whole new attitude toward their nephew.

"Get in the car, boy." Vernon growled, shoving the small eight year old toward the car. "We haven't got time to wait for you to putz around."

Usually, when his Uncle made a comment like that, Harry would duck his head and respond with a submissive "Yes, Uncle Vernon, sir." but this time, the boy locked eyes with his scowling Uncle and held them for a good thirty seconds, before arching a brow and smirking. As you wish, Vermin," he sneered, then easily climbed into the car, ignoring the way his Uncle's face turned a dangerous purple.

"Just wait until we get home, boy," Vernon snarled climbing into the car and tearing off down the street, "you're going to get the beating of your life."

Harry yawned widely and reclined himself in his seat.

"You hear me boy, when I'm done with you, you'll wish your drunken parents killed you the night they killed themselves."

"Oh spare me the lies, Vernon," Harry sneered. "You and I both know that my parents didn't die in a drunk driving accident like you wanted me to grow up believing, they died heroes, fighting the evil wizard Voldemort."

Petunia turned a sickly shade of grey and let out a strangled gasp, while Vernon seemed to have a spastic attack, causing the car to swerve wildly. Luckily, the road they were driving on was near deserted and thusly no one was put in danger because of his dramatics.

"What did you say, boy?" Vernon growled dangerously, when he finally managed to get his body back under control.

"You heard me, and if you didn't, well, I don't fancy repeating myself."

"Why you-" Vernon turned in his seat, preparing to hit Harry.

"Eyes on the road, Vermin, you might hit something like a deer," Harry easily crafted a flawless illusion of a deer leaping onto the road, directly in front of the car. Vernon jerked the steering wheel, only just managing to miss it. "Or, dear me, a little old lady," ten yards ahead, an illusion of an old stooped woman began to cross the street at a snail's pace. "Heaven knows how she got there." Vernon slammed his foot on the brakes, and for a moment the car was silent as the Dursley's tried to slow their heart rates, but Harry was nowhere near done with them.

"Or even worse," the eight year old said softly, "you could lose control of the car," then, with no prompting from the driver, the car suddenly jerked into motion. "That could very well end in disaster."

"Vernon," Petunia whispered, eyeing the speedometer as it passed sixty and steadily made its way to seventy.

"I'm trying, Petunia," Vernon desperately slammed his foot on the brakes, when nothing happened he pulled on the emergency brake, but that too had no effect.

When the car began speeding along dangerous curves in the road at over ninety miles, Petunia and Vernon turned to Harry. "What do you want from us?" Petunia demanded.

"What makes you think I want anything from you?" Harry asked, lazily stretching out on his seat.

"You wouldn't be doing this if you didn't."

Harry looked up at his aunt and uncle, who both flinched away from him and his unnatural green eyes. "From the moment I arrived on your doorstep seven years ago, I have been treated like the filth beneath your feet, and I am done with it. When I was younger, all I wanted you to do was love me, if you had only loved me I would have done _anything _for you, but now, I've come to realize, that even if you were capable of loving something other than yourselves, I wouldn't want it, not anymore. Now I just want to be treated as if I was remotely human, which means you will no longer starve me, you will not lay another finger on me, and you will not treat me as a slave whose only goal in life is to please you.

"The moment we return to Privet Drive, I expect to be moved out of the cupboard and into the guest room, Dudley's second bedroom can be your new guest room. If you ever need chores done around the house, do them yourselves, I'm done doing your work for you, and if you dare to try and harm me in any way, shape, or form, you'll come to seriously regret it.

"Believe it or not, I am a human being, and it's about damn time you started treating me like one," Harry sat a little straighter in his chair, then smiled charmingly at his relatives. "So, do we have an accord?"

Petunia and Vernon, exchanged a look before glancing fearfully at the speedometer then at the quivering, crying lump that was their son.

"We have an agreement." Vernon snarled, returning his furious gaze to Harry.

"Wise, Dursley, very wise," Harry gathered his magic back into himself, releasing the car from his control. "Feel free to take us home now."

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**REVIEW RESPONSES BELOW!**

**A/N: I'm not wildly pleased with this chapter as it came out sounding a bit rough, but hopefully you found it enjoyable, if not, let me know if you didn't and be sure to tell me why just in case it's something that can be fixed. And if you liked, well go on and drop me a review anyway. And for all of the fantastic people who reviewed last chapter, I thank you profusely and if you had questions or certain comments, you may find responses below.**

**Poppyseed Pomphrey: I'm glad you liked the story, even though you were hesitant about the summary. Truth be told it actually gave me bit of trouble, I couldn't figure out a good way to give a decent, informative summary while also drawing in readers. And a mention would be greatly appreciated :D**

**Guest: **_**"I hope it doesn't take a year for the next part." **_

**No year long wait, huzzah! I can assure you that I'll try my hardest not to make you wait too long in-between chapters.**

**candinaru25****: They will, but that won't be for a while.**

**Primal Chaos: You're actually the first person to bring up Loki's kids, but you're completely right Loki does have a lot to fear from Odin considering what happened to his other kids. You'll actually be seeing more of that and all of Loki's kid's reactions in a few chapters.**

**Seraphinus: Sorry, he did end up going to the Dursley's, but as you can see, their behavior towards him will no longer be an issue. And the issue of Harry's mortality will be broached in the coming chapters, but you won't actually be finding the answer for awhile, I'm going to make you all suffer. Mwahaha :D**

**ALUCARD: I'm not yet sure on what the pairings will be, so far I'm leaning towards Gen, but if I do decided to go for the yaoi route, I hope that won't turn you away from this fic **

**Kefalion: I was more than a bit excited when I saw you had reviewed as I'm a huge fan of your writing, I'm happy you found my take on this somewhat cliché plot original, as that was obviously what I was hoping for *crossing my fingers that it remains original*. I'm glad that you liked my idea to keep Harry's mortality a mystery for the moment, I'll certainly be milking that for as long as I can.**

**Kirallie: You're another one who I was ecstatic to see had reviewed me, I'm enormous fan and getting a review from you was a bit of an ego boost. A bit of background that wasn't included in this chapter, Loki did feel the attack, but because of Harry's questionable mortality, and Odin's reaction to all of Loki's previous children, he was forced to allow Harry to remain with the Dursley's, though he was unaware of the abuse they inflicted upon him until this chapter.**

**Tiger Lily Roar: I'm glad you were able to glean some entertainment from this plot, I agree it's a bit overused but I simply couldn't help myself I'm also going to take this chance to say that you're another author that I adore and am eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Sins of the Son and an update for Everything I Do.**

**Daughter of Death and Magic: I had hoped it was stealthy, I'm pleased to see it worked :D. I'm pleased you enjoyed the story so far, and hopefully your curiosity will be assuaged in the coming chapters.**

**The One: Glad you enjoyed, here's your requested update :D**

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**Thanks for the reviews, lovelies, keep them coming. To anyone I didn't personally respond to, I'll once again thank for reviewing, it truly made my day.**


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, but these last few weeks have been hectic, but a good kind of hectic at least. My family took a trip to Orlando, Florida and visited the Universal theme parks which, if you aren't already aware, have an entire section to the park devoted to the world of Harry Potter, and let me tell you it was amazing, Hogsmeade seemed so real and Hogwarts was beautiful, it makes me sad all over again that I didn't get my Hogwarts letter. But my** **foray into the beautiful world of Harry Potter really got my muse going so now I have at least half a dozen ideas for fics that are just demanding to be written down and made into fully fledged stories, so look out for those.**

**On another note, it has recently come to my attention that the cover for my story is the work of the artist Satanoy, so thank you S. Rune for bringing that to my attention, and all credit for the wonderful work of art goes to Satanoy.**

**So with that out of the way, I think I've covered everything, on with the story.**

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**Disclaimer: Anything that sounds familiar, most likely belongs to either J.K. Rowling and Marvel, of whom/which I am neither. I make no profit from this work.**

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_There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate.__  
__Linda Grayson_

After their little talk in the car, life in the Dursley household changed dramatically for both Harry and the Dursley's. Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly considering the Dursleys' cowardice, Harry's relatives stuck to their agreement and moved Harry out of the cupboard under the stairs and into the guest room, they also began feeding him regularly and no longer heaped ridiculous amounts of chores onto him.

Unfortunately for the Dursleys, this meant they no longer had the free physical labor they had taken advantage of for nearly a decade, and were forced to begin doing things for themselves. Needless to say, that did not go down very well with Dudley.

The only thing expected of Harry was for him to stay out of sight, although occasionally he did have to scare Vernon with a show of magic when he looked as if he was trying to revert back to his old ways. But other than those occasional bumps in the road, life at the Dursley's was good, but it was also appallingly boring. Other than his father's regular visits, Harry had very little to keep himself entertained, he spent a fair bit of time cooped up in the library reading and researching whatever caught his fancy, but that quickly grew old.

Despite his godly parentage, Harry was like any other preteen human boy, he was curious (one would even dare say that he was _more _curious than the average boy), he was energetic, full of boundless energy that was put to good use during Loki's training sessions, but the thing that he held most in common with boys his age, was also the only thing he found himself unable to have. Harry was desperate for friends, but the children his age, and even the ones several years older than him, were too wary of him to strike up a proper friendship. Harry had tried making friends, but it was as if the boys and girls he approached knew that there was something different about him, that he wasn't completely human, and that made making friends very hard. Impossible, in fact.

As a direct result of his…deficiency, for lack of a better word, Harry spent most of his late childhood in the library, his only friends the dusty old books and the even dustier old women ruling the library with staccato whispers and iron rulers for the hands of those who dared to break their rules.

But the monotony of his everyday life was shattered when, a week or so before his eleventh birthday, during a relatively peaceful breakfast, a tawny owl flew through the open kitchen window and dropped a thick envelope bearing the seal of his mother's alma mater into the plate of eggs before flying right back out the way it came.

Harry snatched the envelope from the plate and greedily took in the words penned neatly across the front of the parchment in shining, emerald ink. They read:

_Mr. H. Potter_

_Third Largest Bedroom_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

He ran a reverent finger over the bright green ink before turning the letter over in his hands and examining the odd seal. It was a rich, dark purple circle stamped with the image of a large letter _H_ bordered by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake. Harry almost regretted having to break the beautiful seal to get to the letter inside.

Inside of the letter were three yellow sheets of parchment, one contained the standard greeting to all first year students, written by the deputy headmistress Minerva McGonagall, the second a full list of everything Harry would need for the upcoming school year, and the last held detailed instructions on how to reach Diagon Alley, the shopping district where he would be getting the majority of his things. A stiff piece of parchment that Harry soon discovered was a train ticket was also amongst the small collection of letters.

"Uncle," Harry said, tucking everything but the directions to Diagon Alley and his shopping list back into the envelope.

Vernon looked up from where he had been steadfastly gorging on his breakfast to fix Harry with not quite a glare, but a look of extreme dislike. "What?" he asked gruffly.

"I need to get to Charing Cross."

"And why would we want to do anything for you, boy?"

Harry rolled his eyes in irritation, it seemed that they had to go through a small power play whenever Harry asked something of his uncle. "Because, Vermin," he said, injecting just the right amount of venom in his words to give the man pause, "I'm asking nicely."

The pudgy man gripped his fork so tight Harry feared it would snap. "Fine, I'll bloody take you."

"Excellent," Harry pushed away from the table and hopped down from his seat. "Let's be off."

"_Now_?" Vernon spluttered.

Harry paused halfway through the doorway to pin the large man with a baleful glare. "Yes now, will that be a problem?"

"No," Vernon growled, he violently pushed his chair away from the table and stormed out to the car, Harry was only a few steps behind.

"I have a lot to do today," the young boy told his uncle when Vernon pulled up in front of the pub he couldn't actually see, "so I won't be ready to be picked up until five thirty this evening. Please don't keep me waiting."

Harry hopped out of the car and made his way into the Leaky Cauldron. The little pub was situated between a record shop and a book store, but by the way the eyes of the men and woman walking along the street seemed to slide over the store front as if it wasn't there led him to believe that the famous pub had been spelled to be invisible to non-magicals.

The inside of the Leaky Cauldron was slightly less awe inspiring than Harry had anticipated, it was small and grubby and lit only by low burning candles, the room was filled with the smoke drifting from the pipes of the handful of witches and wizards scattered across the room.

"Hello there, lad," a kindly bald man, stooped with old age and without a single tooth in his mouth greeted Harry from behind the bar he was wiping down. "Can I help you with anything?"

Harry dropped the cool façade he usually sported around the Dursley's and replaced it with that of a shy young boy, unsure of his surroundings and added just enough childlike charm to endear the older man to him. "Yes, sir," he said shyly, "I was just wondering if you could show me how to get into Diagon Alley."

"Of course," the barkeep said, tossing aside his rag and stepping around the bar. "Follow me," he led Harry through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds. The older man pulled out his wand and, after locating a certain brick on the wall, two up and three across, tapped it thrice with the stick of wood.

Harry watched in fascination as the brick he tapped quivered and began to melt away, forming a hole that steadily grew larger and larger until it formed an archway that lead onto a cobbled street that twisted out of sight.

After giving his thanks to the wizened wizard, Harry stepped into the alley and hurried down the street. This turned out to be much more difficult than it seemed, not only because the shopping district was crowded with people, but because Harry was attempting to take in the sights as he maneuvered through the masses.

Diagon Alley, truly was a magnificent place, the street was wide and cobbled and filled with hundreds of witches and wizards all sporting fantastically colorful garments that he assumed to be robes. On either side of the street were long rows of shops that sold anything the mind could imagine. And at the end of the row of shops was a grand white building with magnificent pillars and two enormous doors. Gringotts Bank, Harry's first destination.

As Harry drew closer to the imposing building, he first noticed the two goblin's in a uniform of scarlet and gold standing guard on either side of the burnished bronze doors, next he noticed the second pair of doors, just behind the first, gleaming and silver with an inscription carved into their surface:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

Harry smiled softly at the warning, the goblin's seemed like creatures he could get along with.

Silently musing on this amusing thought, Harry entered the vast marble hall, and surveyed the space with well concealed wonder. Hundreds of goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. The bank was nothing short of amazing.

Eagerly, Harry crossed the hall and made his way to the closest goblin, drawing upon the countless etiquette lessons from his father, the eleven year old bowed at the waist and, making sure to keep eye contact, greeted the teller, "Good morning, master goblin. I'm here to visit my vault, but I have no key."

The goblin raised an eyebrow. "Name?"

"Harry Potter."

The other eyebrow joined the first. "A simple identity test will resolve any problems your lack of keys cause," the goblin produced a fresh sheet of parchment and a small, short knife from beneath the counter. "Your hand, please, I require three drops of your blood."

With only a hint of trepidation, Harry held out a hand and allowed the goblin to wrap his long fingers in a firm grip around his wrist and carefully prick his index finger with the razor sharp point of the knife, blood welled from the cut and dripped three drops onto the parchment. A soft glow surrounded the bleeding finger, healing his wound, then Harry's hand was returned to him.

The eleven year old watched in unconcealed fascination as the goblin muttered something in guttural language, most likely _Gobbledegook_, and the blood disappeared into the parchment, after several seconds of waiting, words slowly started to appear, letter by letter on the page. When the last word was written out, the goblin lifted the parchment and silently read its contents. Those eyebrows shot right back up.

"Haraldr Lokison, son of Lily Potter nee Evans and Loki of Asgard, Norse god of mischief and lies, it is an honor."

"The honor is mine," Harry bowed once again.

"Despite being the son of Loki, James Potter adopted you as his son, making you his heir, the sole heir of the Potter family."

"What does that mean for me?"

"It means," the goblin said, "that when you reach your majority, seventeen years of age, you will be given the title Lord Potter and access to your family vaults as well as a seat on the Wizengamot."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, he would have to find some books on all of this, it seemed that there was more to the wizarding world than he had initially believed.

"In regards to your keys," the teller continued, "there are only two, both of which are no longer in the possession of Gringotts but rather," he snapped his finger and a sheet of parchment appeared in his hands, "Albus Dumbledore."

Harry recognized the name, his father had mentioned that his mother and stepfather had spoken highly of the man, that he was the one who warded the Potter's home against Voldemort. He had obviously done a bang up job.

"Why is he in possession of my keys?" he asked curiously.

"It seems that because no one else was available, he, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, was named your magical guardian. Dumbledore has had your keys since the night of the Potter's death, they should have been returned to you when you received your Hogwarts letter."

"And yet they weren't," Harry murmured to himself. "Does that mean I can't access my vaults until he returns them?"

The goblin shook his head. "Because we have proof of your identity, a new key can be made for you and the old ones will become void. Does that sound agreeable?"

"It does, thank you, master goblin."

The goblin nodded, then, with another snap of his fingers, conjured two golden keys, one much smaller than the other. "This key," he handed Harry the larger one, "is for your family vault, you cannot access it until you are seventeen, this key," the smaller one, "is for your trust vault, you have access to it now."

Harry pocketed the larger key, but kept the smaller one in his hand. "Can I withdraw money from my trust vault?"

"Of course, I'll have someone take you down. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin, short and surly looking like the rest, his most distinctive features were his long hooked nose, silver hair, and yellow eyes.

"Take Mr. Potter to his trust vault."

Griphook nodded and led Harry through one of the doors leading off the hall. Harry, who had expected more marble, was surprised when they stepped into a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in and were off.

The cart hurtled at insane speeds through the twisting tunnels, down steep slopes, and, if his eyes weren't deceiving him, past an angry, fire-breathing dragon. Harry loved every second of it. But eventually, the car stopped beside a small door in the passage wall. Harry and Griphook climbed from the cart, and, using his little golden key, unlocked the door. It swung open on silent hinges and a cloud of green smoke came billowing out, as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins, columns of silver Sickles, and heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"The gold ones are Galleons," Griphook explained helpfully, "the silver are Sickles, and bronze are Knuts. Seventeen Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle."

Harry nodded and quickly began piling several handfuls of each of the different coins into the bag hanging on his back. "What's the pound to galleon exchange rate?"

"It's roughly one galleon for every five pounds,"

The eleven year old did a quick bit of math, converting the Sickle and Knut's worth in his head as he added one last handful to his bag. "That should do it."

Another wild cart ride and several polite farewells later, Harry was back out in the alley quickly making his way from shop to shop, collecting the items on his list as he did.

He first visited Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions where he got fitted for several different types of robes while having to endure the cheerful storeowner's insistent chatter on a million and one different topics. The moment Madam Malkin had finished with him he made his escape to Flourish and Blotts, a bookstore where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather, books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk, books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. He had an amazing time in that store buying both the required school books and several that weren't on the list.

After that, he picked up a pewter cauldron, a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients, and a collapsible brass telescope from the store next door, then he visited the Apothecary, but because of its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages, he didn't linger in the store for too long. And then, finally, he went to get his wand.

The wandmaker's shop was a narrow and shabby building that read, in peeling gold letters over the door, _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._ A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

When Harry pushed the door open a tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop, but no one appeared to help him. It was a tiny place, made even tinier by the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling, but the air was heavy with magic that felt almost sentient.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," an old man appeared before Harry from seemingly nowhere and stared at him with wide pale eyes.

"Hello," Harry said politely. "You wouldn't happen to be Mr. Ollivander, would you?"

"I would," Ollivander confirmed. "I was not expecting you for quite some time, Mr. Potter, and I must confess, you are nothing like I expected. Although the rumors appear to be true, you have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work," the old man was beginning to unnerve Harry with his wide, unblinking silver eyes. "Your father, on the other hand, your father doesn't use a wand, does he?"

"Excuse me?"

Mr. Ollivander ignored his question and moved closer, so close he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did this," he said softly "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

"But you didn't, and even if you had what could you have done?"

"Wise words from one so young, but at the same time so old. Now what is your wand hand?"

Harry blinked in confusion at the non sequitur but held out his right hand.

Ollivander pulled out a tape measure and began to measure Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

The wandmaker left the tape measure to measure between his nostrils, while he flitted between the shelves collecting different boxes. "That will do," he said, and the measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and, feeling a bit foolish, waved it around, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try-" Harry tried, but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander "No, no here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. And tried just a bit more. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become. "Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere, I wonder, now yes, why not, unusual combination, holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

The moment Harry took the wand, he felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of green and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.

Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands excitedly and cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious…"

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious…"

Harry knew the old man was baiting him, the wandmaker was practically begging him to ask what had interested him, but he couldn't help but ask anyway. "Sorry, but what's curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather, just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you that scar. Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things, terrible, yes, but great."

Harry's face took on a contemplative expression. "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander," he murmured paying the required seven galleons then left the shop.

With all of his shopping done for the day, Harry settled down at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour with a mint chocolate chip cone and a dozen thoughts running through his head, the majority of which involved the odd wandmaker and his unsettling familiarity with things he should have no knowledge of.

"What is it that has you looking so troubled, little one?"

The cone in Harry's hand threatened to topple into his lap when he started in surprise at the sudden appearance of his father in the seat opposite him.

"Must you do that?" the eleven year old scowled. "You almost made me waste a perfectly good ice cream cone."

"It's good to see you too," Loki drawled sarcastically. "No need to be embarrassed, I missed you as well. So much, in fact, that I opted out of what looked to be a glorious battle on Anaheim to come to Midgard. Your uncle and his imbecilic companions are now under the impression that I no longer have the…_required assets _to engage in warfare. I have no doubt that they will never let me live it down."

Harry smiled sheepishly and moved around the table to enfold himself in his father's arms. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "you just startled me, was all. I really am happy to see you and I've missed you terribly these last few weeks."

Loki sighed and ran a hand through Harry's hair, he was unable to remain irritated with his son, feigned or not, when he turned those big green eyes on him. "I suppose I can forgive you, but just this once."

Harry his triumphant grin in his father's shoulder. "Do you really think Uncle Thor and the others will give you a hard time?"

"Of course not," Loki snorted. "If one of them so much as dares to say a word against me they'll find themselves with an extra limb or some other unpleasant phenomena. But enough about them, I didn't come here to talk about Thor and his entourage."

"Then what did you come here for?"

"Trouble is brewing in Asgard," Loki explained. "My brother's coronation is not long from now, a year, maybe two, away," this was stated with only a trace amount of bitterness, Loki had always known that it would be Thor who would inherit the throne, his brother made the perfect image of a king, strong, powerful, and willing to do whatever it took for the safety of his people. "He will make a good king, not perfect, but good. However, there are a select few who believe otherwise, these few are willing to risk exile, and perhaps even death, to make sure Thor does not become king."

"Are they dangerous?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Not in the slightest. They are the lowest scum of all the nine realms, because they were banished from Asgard for various crimes to the throne they have a vendetta against my family, but only minimal battle training to back it up, they are of no danger to me or your uncle. However, they are large in number and it will take us a bit of time to track them all down, so, in case I'm not here for your birthday," Loki produced a long, thin box wrapped in silver paper from his jacket pocket, "I wanted to give you this."

Harry eagerly accepted the proffered gift and unwrapped the silvery paper, inside was a matte, black box almost as long as his forearm and barely a hands width wide. Slowly, he lifted the lid from the box and gasped in awe. "Oh, Dad," he breathed, "it's amazing,"

"I figured you'd like it."

Nestled in a soft bed of crushed velvet was a beautifully crafted dagger, the blade was long and wickedly sharp and the hilt was a shining gold inlaid with intricate patterns. "I do," Harry said. "I love it," he looked up at his father with shining eyes. "Does this mean you'll finally teach me how to fight?"

Loki looked down at Harry with mock thoughtfulness. "I suppose so," he said slowly, "I think you're old enough not to skewer yourself on a wayward blade."

Harry tried to look offended, but he was still too happy to properly pull it off, but he still managed to sound mildly sarcastic when he next spoke. "Your confidence in me is staggering."

"As it should be," Loki pulled Harry into his side and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Happy birthday, little trickster."

* * *

Other than the fact that the Dursley's seemed, if possible, even more wary of him than before, the month that led up to his departure to Hogwarts remained much the same as any other month. As usual, Harry remained in his bedroom reading whatever texts he could get his hands on, which at that moment was a potions textbook explaining the properties of various potions ingredients, which would hopefully give him a better grasp on what and why certain ingredients couldn't be mixed together and an understanding of the subject as a whole.

Along with his potions texts, Harry had gone through all of his school and extracurricular texts as well as the ones he'd ordered with the snowy white owl he'd bought from Diagon Alley.

The only time Harry ever left his room was when Loki visited and, sticking to the promise he'd made that day in Diagon Alley, took him to a nice secluded spot a ways away from Privet Drive and taught him how to use the blade he'd gifted him with.

Unfortunately, his month long reading session, interrupted only by his lessons, ended when September first, the day of his departure, arrived. At around ten that morning, Harry asked his uncle to drop him off at King's Cross, the man readily agreed if only because taking Harry would see him gone for a full school year. The car ride to Kings Cross was quiet, if he didn't know any better, Harry would say his uncle was trying to leave on a good note. But the moment they arrived at the station and the eleven year old had unloaded his trunk from the boot of the car, Vernon sped off grinning and singing gleefully out of the open window, and Harry shook his head, reprimanding himself for the foolish thought.

"Well, goodbye to you too," Harry muttered as he hefted his trunk and Hedwig's occupied cage onto a trolley and began pushing it in the direction of his platform, Platform 9 ¾. But when he reached his destination, he came to realize that there was a problem. Platform 9 ¾ didn't exist. There was a Nine and a Ten, but nothing in between but a ticket inspector's booth and a barrier to separate the two platforms.

"It must be hidden by some sort of magic," Harry murmured to himself. That would only make sense, he figured the wizards wouldn't want non-magical people to wander onto the train leading to Hogwarts, so they must have hidden the entrance.

Calling upon his father's teaching, Harry summoned a small strand of magic and sent it out to scan his surroundings, specifically the two items between Platforms Nine and Ten. The ticket booth checked out normal enough, but the barrier held strong traces of magic. A glamour then, he'd read about those, they were easy enough to get through.

Slowly, with only the barest traces of hesitation, Harry pushed his trolley forward and into the wall, but instead of slamming into the solid barrier, it seemed to sink straight through it. Pleased that his assumptions had been correct, Harry pushed the rest of the trolley through the barrier, then stepped through himself.

"They really should have mentioned that in the letter," Harry mused as he surveyed his surroundings.

The platform was packed full of people of all sizes and ages, some of which were boarding the large, scarlet train that lazily puffed smoke above everyone's heads, but most of the people were still exchanging greetings and farewells with family and friends.

Deciding to use this time to his advantage, Harry carefully wound his way through the crowd and boarded the train. Because everyone was still out on the platform, he was able to easily find himself an empty compartment, and, after stowing his trunk in the corner, he settled down in his seat with a book to read and a vow to stay that way for the rest of the train ride.

He was only a few chapters in when this notion was put to rest when the door to his compartment slid open and a redheaded boy with a black smudge on his nose appeared.

"Oh, sorry," he muttered, obviously embarrassed, "I thought this compartment was empty."

"It's alright," Harry smiled, "you can join me if you like, but I'm afraid I might bit of a bore," he held up his book to prove his point.

"I don't mind, I'll find something to do," the boy said as he settled down in the seat across from Harry.

A few minutes later, as the train let out a shrill whistle and slowly began to move, the compartment door opened again, this time by two identical boys who, if their red hair and similar facial features were anything to go by, where brothers to his companion.

"Hey Ron," one of the boys greeted.

"Listen, we're going down to the middle of the train," the second boy said, "Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

Harry watched as the newly dubbed Ron barely suppressed a shiver, then nodded at his brothers,

"Right," he said. "Go on then," but the two boys didn't move and, after a few seconds, Ron noticed "What are you waiting for?"

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?"

Ron's ears turned pink and he glanced over at Harry "Oh, right, well um…"

The older boys sighed in mock frustration "Ah, we see, you didn't have the common decency to ask for his name."

"Thus you are unable to introduce us."

Suddenly the two boys stepped toward Harry and held out their hands, forcing the eleven year old to cross his arms over each other in order to shake both at the same time.

"Please forgive our brother for his appalling lack of manners," the older boys said.

"Yeah, acts like he was raised in a barn, that boy. I'm Fred Weasley."

"And I'm his much more handsome twin, George."

"And that little runt in the corner is our little brother, Ron."

"A pleasure," Harry grinned. "I'm Harry Potter."

The three redheads froze in shock, but Fred and George recovered remarkably quickly and reached out to shake his hands again.

"Well who would have thunk it," Fred's grin grew impossibly larger. "We're shaking hands with the great and mighty Harry Potter."

"The-Boy-Who-Lived himself! What an honor!" Harry winced at the horrible moniker, his father had told him all that he knew about the events of that Halloween night ten years ago and his subsequent rise to fame in the wizarding world, and, to be honest, it all seemed like a load of hogwash to him.

"A privilege," the twins had released his hand and begun to bow to him.

"A treat."

"A pleasure."

"A right dandy-"

"Alright, you two we get it," Ron cut in. "Weren't you supposed to be seeing some giant tarantula?"

"Too right you are, little brother," George agreed.

"We'll see you two at the sorting," then the twins were gone.

"Sorry 'bout them," Ron apologized, ears still flushed pink, "they like to joke around a lot."

"It's alright," Harry smiled. "I thought they were funny."

"Well don't go telling them, it'll go straight to their heads."

"Mum's the word," Harry settled back in his seat, eyes on Ron and book forgotten. "Are all your family wizards?" he asked curiously, this was his first time meeting someone from his mother's world, other than the shopkeepers in Diagon Alley, and he was going to be sure to get as much information from the boy as he could.

"For the most part, I think," Ron said thoughtfully. "Although I heard Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we don't talk about him much. What about you? I heard you got sent to live with muggles. What are they like?"

"Not so bad, they're a bit more advanced technologically speaking than wizards, but my aunt and uncle are still stuck in the stone age when it comes to wizards and witches, they're equal parts terrified and repulsed by anything _abnormal_. My cousin isn't much better. I wish I could have two older brothers."

"Five," Ron said, suddenly looking glum, "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left, Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat," Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep. "His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, so I got Scabbers."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he observed the rat, there was something off about the animal, it almost looked as if it had a magical aura, like a wizard, albeit a very weak one. But he quickly passed it off as paranoia and figured that any animal that had grown up in a magical household would have absorbed a bit of magic for themselves.

"But it still must be nice to know that you have so many people to turn to when the going gets rough."

Ron's face took on a thoughtful expression as he pondered Harry's words. "I never thought of it that way, I guess I kind of just took it for granted," this remark led to Harry and Ron falling into easy conversation about the differences between their families and the expectations they held for the two of them.

At around half past twelve, a cheerful woman interrupted their conversation when she slid back their door and gestured to her cart of sweets. "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Ron immediately declined, muttering something about sandwiches, but Harry leapt to his feet and approached the woman and her cart, curious of her wares. He had heard a lot about wizarding candy and was eager to try some, so he spent a good portion of his pocket change buying several of everything on the cart.

"Hungry, are you?" Ron asked, watching in disbelief as Harry dumped the large pile of sweets onto one of the empty seats.

"Starving," Harry said, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Ron took out a lumpy package and unwrapped it to reveal four sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and sighed. "She always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Well then come over here and help me out with these," Harry said. "You don't expect me to eat all of this by myself?"

Ron hesitated for a second, then moved over to Harry's side. "You have a point there, mate."

Together, the two boys made their way through the piles of sweets, discussing the differences between them and their muggle counterparts, daring each other to eat ominous looking Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and laughing when one of them got particularly horrible ones.

But they still hadn't managed to make a dent in their pile when they were interrupted by a knock at the door followed by a tearful, plump faced boy. "Sorry, but have either of you by any chance seen a toad?" he asked. When Ron and Harry shook their heads, he became even more distressed. "I've lost him," he wailed. "He keeps getting away."

Harry observed the boy sympathetically, he seemed really upset over the loss of his pet, and Harry could understand why, he had barely had Hedwig for a month, but he would be devastated if something happened to her.

Sighing softly to himself, he climbed to his feet and crossed the compartment to place a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "What's your name?"

"N-Neville."

"And your toad's name?"

Neville seemed confused by the question, or maybe the intent behind it, but he answered anyway. "Trevor."

"Alright then, Neville, I have a way we can find Trevor."

"You-you do?"

Harry nodded. "Yup, just hold out your hands," once the boy had done as told, Harry pulled out his wand and flicked it in a gentle arc. "_Accio Trevor_," he murmured. For a moment, nothing happened, then a dark green and brown blob sped into the room and, at Harry's direction, landed with a wet _plop _into Neville's waiting hands.

"Wicked," Harry could only just hear Ron over Neville's profuse exclamations of gratitude.

"It was nothing, Neville," Harry placated the boy who was now excitedly shaking his hand.

"That most certainly was not nothing," the three boys turned to the door where a bushy haired girl stood staring at Harry with narrowed eyes.

"Hermione," Neville gasped, "look he found Trevor for me."

"I saw," the girl, Hermione, said. "That had to at least been a fourth year spell you used," she said to Harry. "How did you learn it?"

Harry shrugged. "Read it in a book," in actuality, that was only half of the truth. Harry _had_ read the spell in a book over the summer, but that hadn't been the spell he'd used. He'd summoned the frog using a trick his father had taught him, but covered it up with the use of the Accio spell. A first year who was knowledgeable and skilled enough to use a fourth year spell was a lot less strange than a first year who was powerful enough to use and control wandless magic.

"Did you really?" Hermione's eyebrows seemed in danger of disappearing into her hairline. "But that was still quite a difficult spell. I've tried a few simple spells just for practice they've all worked for me, but I haven't tried anything _near _that level. Nobody in my family's magic at all you see, so it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard, I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way and this is Neville Longbottom, who are you?"

Ron and Harry exchanged amused glances, this girl knew how to talk, but she seemed nice enough so they answered her question.

"I'm Ron Weasley."

"And I'm Harry Potter."

Neville's eyes seemed to be about to fall out of his head and Hermione became even more excited. "Are you really?" she asked. "I know all about you, of course, I got a few extra books, for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

Harry winced. "Yeah, I've read them as well, they're all a load of rubbish."

Hermione looked scandalized by his words. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, they don't exactly know what they're talking about," Harry explained patiently. "Only two people were there the night I got my scar, me and Voldemort, and as far as I can tell, neither of us have been interviewed by any of these people trying to write "historical accounts" about what went on that night."

Everyone in the compartment laughed, although Ron and Neville looked a bit pale from his use of Voldemort's name. Harry had heard all about the wizarding world's irrational fear of Voldemort's name, and found it, as he did many things, absurd, he refused to call the madman by such ridiculous monikers as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and You-Know-Who.

"I suppose you're right," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"I suppose I am," Harry replied cheerfully. "Now would you two like to join us? We have this here pile of sweets that we're determined to finish before the train reaches Hogwarts."

"My parents say that sweets will rot your teeth."

"Your parents wouldn't happen to be dentists would they?"

A small smile twitched at the corner of Hermione's mouth. "They might be," she said, primly sitting herself beside Ron.

"What's a dentist?" the redhead asked.

As Hermione launched into a long winded explanation on her parents' profession, Harry turned to Neville who was still standing shyly by the door. "Come on, Neville," he urged, "I meant you as well."

"I don't want to be a bother."

"Nonsense," Harry reached out and tugged Neville into the seat beside him. "If I didn't want you here, I wouldn't have asked you to join us."

"Well, you make a fair point."

"I know I do. Pasty?"

* * *

"Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So which one of you is he?"

Harry, Neville, and Hermione looked away from Ron, who had been giving them an enthusiastic lecture all about the mechanics of Quidditch, to the door, where a blonde haired boy, flanked by two larger, mean looking boys, stood at the door of the compartment.

"Pardon?" Harry asked politely.

"I heard Harry Potter is in this compartment. Is it true?"

"That depends on who's asking."

"This is Crabbe and Goyle," the blonde said, gesturing to his two companions. "And I'm Draco Malfoy."

A soft cough from Ron, that may or may not have been hiding a laugh, drew Draco's attention to him. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford," he looked to Neville. "And you're the squib Longbottom who only just barely made it into Hogwarts," Draco's eyes fell on Harry. "I don't recognize you two, so you must be Potter," he said to Harry, then glanced distastefully at Hermione, "and you must be a mudblood."

That must have been a pretty foul insult, because Ron gasped and turned red with fury, and even shy little Neville, looked to Draco with righteous anger, but the blonde didn't seem to care.

"You'll soon find that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out a pale hand, to shake Harry's, but the green eyed wizard didn't take it, he was seriously contemplating turning the boy away when he paused. He was new to this world, and what Draco had said, even though it was thickly laced in a liberal amount of insults and racial slurs, made sense, there were some wizarding families that were better than the others, although in a different sense than what Draco was thinking, and Harry would need help finding them.

But did Harry want help from the boy who had so cavalierly insulted all of his friends in one short breath? No, he didn't. But did that mean he was going to turn his offer down? No, it didn't. Looking at Draco with the eyes of someone who had been trained in the art of sensing magic and it's affinity to the light and the dark, Harry could see that Draco was still very much light, but something, or someone, was slowly tainting him, he wouldn't even be able to make it through his Hogwarts years before the dark took over him completely. Unless…unless Harry could convert him to his side. Not only would he be preventing making any future enemies, he would be helping Draco. And he_ really _wanted to help Draco, but he couldn't help him if he didn't want to be helped.

Slowly, Harry climbed to his feet so he stood the same height as Draco, and observed the boy silently. "You're right, I do need your help," he said after several seconds, "I'm not as knowledgeable in wizarding customs as I should be, but you could help me with that," a victorious smirk began inching its way along Draco's face, but it faltered at Harry's next words. "But you need my help too."

"I don't-"

"You're arrogant, bigoted, and, despite this amazing persona you have of this spoiled little prince, you're unhappy, with your friends, with yourself, with life in general. I can help you, but only if you let me," Harry paused for a second, both to allow what he was saying to sink in and to gauge Draco's reaction. "We both need each other, so let's make a deal, we become allies, maybe even friends, I help you get to where you want to be and you help me with the same, but my friendship comes with a price. You see these people right here?" Harry gestured to Ron, Hermione, and Neville. "They're my friends, and I don't intend on giving them up, not for you, not for anyone, and I won't stand by and watch as _anyone_ insults them. So hang the words like poor, squib, and _mudblood_ at the door. If you want to be friends, you have to take me flaws and all," Harry held out his hand, only a few inches away from where Draco's still remained. "Deal?"

There was a moment of silence as the blonde stared at Harry, then at his extended hand, then back up at Harry's face again, then he reached out and took his hand. "Deal."

Harry beamed at him. "Brilliant, now please, join us, Draco."

With only a hint of reluctance in their movements, Draco and his two goons settled down in the compartment. The three weren't instantly accepted, but that was to be expected, Draco _had_ insulted Ron, Hermione, _and_ Neville, not to mention Ron seemed to have a deep seated hatred for all things Malfoy, but they all seemed to at least be making an effort. Draco was speaking politely, if not a bit stiffly, with Hermione about the different houses of Hogwarts, while Ron was studiously ignoring the blonde's presence and focusing all of his attention on Neville.

Despite the palpable tension in the air, Harry couldn't help but grin, they weren't much, not yet, but these were his friends, all of them, and they were the first people in a long time, other than his father of course, who _chose_ to be with him, they weren't here out of fear, or greed, or some twisted sense of duty, they were here for Harry. Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

**A/N: Last chapter I responded to your reviews at the bottom of the page, this chapter I personally PMed most (not yet all) of you, just let me know which method you prefer and I'll stick to that.**

**And I know you all have been hoping to see Harry show up the Malfoys or Dumbledore, there won't be any Dumbledore chewing out for a few more chapters, but Harry puts someone in their place quite ruthlessly in the next chapter, so at least you have that to look forward to.**

**And lastly, to all who really didn't want to see Ron as Harry's friend, please don't worry, I have some fantastic plans for our favorite (or, judging by some of your comments, not so favorite) redhead that will be put into action in these coming chapters. Hopefully, I'll be able to get you guys to hate him just a bit less. **


	4. Chapter Three

**Silverman1: **Harry will have a Jotun form I've already hinted a bit at it but it won't come into play for another chapter or so. And because James legally adopted Harry as his son and heir he has access to the Potter name, titles, and whatever may come with them.

For your second review, I haven't decided if there will be ramifications for those who published anything without Harry's permission, but it's certainly something I'll be considering. The same goes for the continuation of his mundane education, I agree that it's ridiculous for the muggleborns to completely forget about their mundane upbringing after being introduced to the wizarding world, although I can see how easy it would be to do so. Who wants to be practicing maths when you can be learning to turn your family into various barnyard animals?

**Tiger Lily Roar: **Haha, I'm sorry there was a severe lack of Hermione being punted off of the train, hopefully this update will appease you. But I do have to agree, she can be a bit annoying in the books but she'll add a bit of interest to the story, and I'll try my hardest to keep her from being _too_ annoying. I'm glad you like my idea of adding in Draco and his new book ends (although those two won't be around for much longer), I have big plans for our favorite blond Slytherin _and _for Dumbledore, the headmaster certainly won't know what hit him.

**The Magnetic Witch: **Haha, I promise I have plans for Ron to, hopefully, make him a bit less hated.

**rmiser1994: **I never thought of introducing the twins and Padfoot to Loki (quite thick of me now that I think of it), but it certainly is an idea I'm going to be thinking and working a lot on now that it's in my head. If it doesn't make it into the main story (though I'm pretty sure it will) I'll definitely make a one-shot of it.

**BlueStar95: **I actually agree with you about Ron, he is bashed a lot but I think that, like you said, his jealousy was realistic when you consider the fact that he grew up in a poor household with six other siblings.

Dumbledore on the other hand is a bit harder to understand, it's obvious he cares a lot for Harry but I think that his position as "leader" of the light can become a bit much for a man as old as he is and sometimes he's forced to make a choice that can potentially harm one person for the greater good of the rest. He's bashed quite a bit (almost more than Ron), but that's because he and the choices he's made in canon make it so easy to do so. I'm trying not to outright bash him in this story, but he certainly won't be the saint I sometimes see him portrayed as.

**Lego Land: **Deciding whether or not Harry would have the same wand as in canon was actually a really difficult decision for me, like you said, he's completely different, but after a long (and I mean _long_) time comparing canon Harry with Lokison Harry I realized that they're not as different as they might seem at first glance. I mean sure, Lokison Harry is much more confident, cunning, and all around Slytherin than canon Harry, but aside from that and his obviously different heritage, he remains just as brave, caring, and loyal as canon Harry.

I took a bit longer pondering over the changes in his magic before concluding that his mortal and Asgardian magic are two completely different things, Asgardian magic doesn't require a focus while mortal magic does, so it's really only the mortal magic being directed through the wand and Lokison Harry's mortal magic really isn't all that different from canon Harry's. So that's how I came to the decision to keep Harry's wand the same.

**HarnGin: **That's part of the plan and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it works.

**Seeker-of-Raven: **Hmm…I haven't really thought of the wizarding world's reaction to Harry's parentage just yet, but your idea is certainly something to ponder.

**njchrispatrick: **Thanks for the advice and trust me I've been constantly making sure to avoid a cliché Harry as, like you said, the worst sort of story is a repeated one. Mortalfairy17 has one much like it and it was incredibly popular, so I've been trying my hardest to make sure that my story remains different from hers.

And about your Thor as Harry's father idea, I would absolutely love to see that, I've only seen one other like it, Child of the Storm, but I haven't read it in awhile and am way far behind. I've already been following A Happy Accident: 70 Years since your first review and have loved every bit of it, so I'm sure anything you decide to maybe, hopefully publish will be just as good.

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**A/N: Now that review responses are out of the way I have a few things I'd like to say before we get onto the chapter, firstly, **_**wow**_** a lot of you guys really hate Ron, some of your reviews expressing your hatred for him were hilarious (I'm looking at you **_**Magnetic Witch**_**) but I promise I **_**do **_**have some big plans for him.**

**This chapter is the first of the Hogwarts arc, I'm hoping to be able to knock it out in ten chapters or less so we can get onto the Marvel arc, which I've already begun planning and am super excited about, but I guess we'll just have to see where the wind takes us.**

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**I've dedicated this chapter to **_Tiger Lily Roar, _**who has never failed to leave me an encouraging, and oftentimes amusing, review, I'm an enormous fan of her and her works and love hearing from her. Recently she was in a car accident and, judging from the author's note she put up a few days ago, was pretty badly injured. So here's to you, love, and hoping you make a speedy recovery!**

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"_There is no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it."_

_-J.K. Rowling_

After a few hours spent together, the tension between the small group of first years had eased up just a bit, they were nowhere near being close friends yet, or at least Draco was nowhere near it, Ron still hated everything about the blonde, and Draco was still a bigoted pureblooded idiot, but things were slowly, _very slowly_, progressing.

_ Well, it's as they say_, Harry thought as he got off of the train with his small group, _Rome wasn't built in a day._

"Firs' years over here! Firs' years! Firs' years come on over."

"Oh, goodness," Hermione said nervously, "that's quite a large man."

Following the brunettes line of sight, he couldn't help but agree, a giant of a man was standing off to the side of the platform, he easily reached over seven feet in height and he seemed to be almost as wide as Harry was tall. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair. If he didn't know better, Harry would say the man was a giant. But despite his overall intimidating appearance, the man didn't seem in the least bit dangerous, and he made sure to voice his opinion.

"He looks perfectly harmless to me."

"Yeah, if you call standing over seven feet tall with feet big enough to squash me like a bug, perfectly harmless, then you got it spot on, mate," Ron muttered.

"C'mon, follow me," the man continued to shout over the chatter of the crowd. "Any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Reluctantly, the large group of eleven year olds followed the man, who introduced himself as Hagrid, away from the train station and down a steep, narrow path that led into near darkness. Everyone was concentrating on making it to their destination without breaking anything, so conversation was a little scarce.

"You'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

As the students turned the corner and caught sight of the castle, they let out a loud, collective "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake that reflected the sight of an enormous castle with many turrets and towers perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkled in the starry sky.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Ron, Hermione, and Neville climbed into one boat, while Harry, Draco, and two other first years climbed into one directly beside them. Crabbe and Goyle were left to find their own somewhere else.

"Everyone in?" Hagrid asked. "Right then, FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the smooth water. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff, they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"What an awful way to travel," Draco grouched as he and Harry rejoined the others and began the trek up to the castle.

"I'm coming to realize that you complain quite a bit, Draco," Harry teased.

"Malfoys do not complain," the blonde sniffed haughtily. "And I have yet to give you permission to use my first name,"

"My apologies, Draco."

In front of them, Hagrid knocked thunderously on the castle doors and was granted entrance by a straight backed, stern faced woman with a bun pulled so tight at the top her head, the skin on her face seemed as if it were being pulled taut.

"The first years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said politely.

"Thank you, Hagrid, I'll take them from here."

Professor McGonagall gestured for the group of first years to follow her into the Entrance Hall. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said once they had come to a stop in the center of the hall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting," her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose, "I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly."

"Welcoming woman," Harry muttered as he absentmindedly reached out to adjust Neville's cloak.

"I liked her," Hermione said. "She seemed as if she knew what she was talking about, she'll make a wonderful teacher no doubt. Although she didn't go into detail on the sorting, how is our house placement determined?"

"Some sort of test I think," Ron said. "Fred says it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

"He probably was," Harry agreed. "It shouldn't be too horrible, they wouldn't want to scare us off on the first day."

"They would if they're trying to weed out the weak," Hermione pointed out. "But that hardly matters, I wonder what house I'll get into."

"You're a sure bet for Ravenclaw," Ron informed her, "I'll probably be put in Gryffindor though."

"Gryffindor," Draco sneered. "I'll be going to Slytherin, just like the rest of my family."

"I'll be Hufflepuff, no doubt," Neville said glumly. "At least that's what Gran thinks. But what about you, Harry? Where do you think you'll end up?"

"I'd think either Ravenclaw with Hermione, or Slytherin with Draco."

"_Slytherin_?" Ron gasped. "No way, why do you think that?"

Harry shrugged. "I've read up on all of the houses, Ravenclaw and Slytherin are what would suit me best."

"Don't mind Weasley's gawping," Draco said. "He was no doubt brought up believing Slytherin was the birthplace for future dark wizards."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Do I look like a future dark wizard, Ron?" he asked.

"No no, of course not."

"Alright then," the raven haired boy agreed cheerfully.

After a few more minutes spent discussing the attributes of the four houses and a short, albeit odd, encounter with the Hogwarts' resident ghosts, McGonagall returned and ordered them to, "Form a line and follow me."

The nervous eleven year olds did as instructed and shuffled along as McGonagall led them into a magnificent dining hall, it was lit by thousands of candles that were floating in midair over five long tables set with glittering golden plates and goblets, four of the tables were designated for the students and one set at the top of the hall for the teachers. All five were already partially filled with teachers and students, all of whom were observing the approaching group of yet to be sorted first years with assessing gazes.

When the small group stopped at the front of the hall, McGonagall set a three legged stool before them, then placed a dirty, frayed hat on top of the stool.

Silence fell upon the hall as everyone focused their attention on the hat, they seemed to be waiting for something to happen, though what it was Harry couldn't be sure, the hat seemed pretty ordinary to him. Well, that is _before_ it began to sing.

The filthy, torn, and altogether completely mundane looking hat opened a little rip that oddly resembled a mouth near its brim and began to sing, it was a rather well thought out and catchy tune about the four houses of Hogwarts and all that they stood for. Overall, it was quite a pleasant surprise.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry when the song had concluded. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry laughed softly. "And you believed him?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "I guess, I should have seen it coming."

"When I call your name," Professor McGonagall said, ending their short conversation, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she unfurled a long scroll and read out the first name "Abbot, Hannah."

Harry watched in interest as the pink faced girl stumbled onto the stool and pulled the hat onto her head, it took less than a minute for her to be sorted into Hufflepuff.

As each student was called forward and sorted, Harry filed their name and respective houses away for future reference, he never knew when they might come in handy. He, however paid extra attention to when his friends were being sorted. Hermione and Draco's predictions had rung true, the brunette was sorted into Ravenclaw and the blonde into Slytherin, neither sorting had taken more than a few seconds. Neville however had defied both his own and his grandmother's expectations when he wound up in Gryffindor. He was so caught up in everyone else being sorted, it was a surprise when his own name was called.

With only a bit of the nervousness the other first years exhibited, Harry approached the hat and, ignoring the interested whispers that swept along the hall, settled it onto his head.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear, "difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either, far from bad, I must say. There's talent here, you're a powerful one and, ah, my goodness, now that's interesting, you've got more than your fair share of secrets, young Lokison."

Harry gripped the stool tightly. "I do," he thought to the hat. "And I'm willing to do anything to keep them exactly that, secrets, including destroying school property."

The hat chuckled softly. "No worries, I'm layered with so many confidentiality spells I wouldn't be able to say a word even if I'd wanted to."

"And you don't?"

"Not in the slightest. Now, with a mind like this, you only belong in one house, and it will surely lead you on a path to greatness, of that I have no doubt."

"You're the expert here."

"Oh, I like you, Mr. Potter. Very well, better be SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted his decision to the entire hall.

There was a stunned silence for several long seconds, then the table with the green and silver banner of the coiled snake above it exploded into applause.

Smiling lightly, Harry made his way to his house table and settled beside Draco, to watch as Ron was sorted into Gryffindor as expected.

Once the last student had been sorted, a Blaise Zabini who joined them in Slytherin, the headmaster gave a speech that left many wondering over his mental stability and then settled down to begin the feast.

* * *

Harry soon learned that, despite the rather enthusiastic welcome he received upon his sorting, not all of his fellow housemates were as pleased as they looked to have him in their house. Looking at the Slytherins, not many would be able to see their displeasure, but Harry had grown up being taught how to catch the subtle twitches in a person's face, the barely perceptible squinting of an eye, the almost unnoticed downturn of lips, he'd been taught how to catch these little shifts in expression and read them so well he didn't have to delve into a person's mind to see what they were thinking, they were already broadcasting their thoughts to anyone clever enough to catch them. So when one of the older Slytherins decided to act on his discontent, he was far from surprised.

It happened during dessert, and was a very subtle exchange, so subtle no one outside of their house noticed the event. Harry was speaking with Draco and their year mate Blaise about the teachers, or more specifically Quirrell and how, in Blaise's words he was said to be '_Completely useless as a teacher and scared of his own shadow'_, when an older student, with a twisted, mean looking face slipped into the empty seat across from Harry.

"Adrian Pucey," Draco muttered only just low enough for Harry to hear, "he's a third year."

Harry tapped the blonde's leg once to show he'd heard him, but otherwise continued alternating between eating his treacle tart and speaking with Blaise.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Pucey said, after only seconds of being ignored. "A Potter sorted into Slytherin,"

Harry looked to the older boy and arched a single eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Oh, I was just expressing my surprise at having the Boy-Who-Lived in the house of the snakes," the teen said, smirking down at Harry. "So tell me, Potter, how does it feel to be a Slytherin?" he watched expectantly, as if he were waiting for Harry to burst into pathetic blubbering over how the Sorting Hat had made a mistake, that he was in the wrong house and would somebody _please_ come and rescue him from the big bad Slytherin.

He would be sadly disappointed.

"Seeing as it's been barely an hour since my sorting, I'm afraid I don't have anything profound to say about the house as a whole, but if you do, by all means, share with the class."

Pucey faltered at the boys mocking tone, but seeing that all of Slytherin's attention was focused indiscreetly on the two boys, he soldiered on. "Oh, I'm sure most find Slytherin to be just the place to be, for, as we all know, anyone from Slytherin will find that they have no trouble finding a place in the wizarding world. However, there are always a select few who just…don't belong."

"Such as?"

"Oh, you know, the weak, the light, the utterly un-ambitious, and, of course, the mudbloods," everyone held their breaths, waiting to see how Harry would react.

The eleven year old sighed softly, almost as if he were exasperated. "So you're a part of the faction of narrow-minded wizards who view themselves as superior to those of 'lesser blood'. How boring."

"Excuse me?"

"Well you see, I haven't been among wizards for some time now," Harry said evenly, "but since my return I've run into a disturbing amount of wizards and witches who seem to have some sort of superiority complex, and it's more than just a bit alarming. Especially considering the fact that the majority of your kind are nothing more than incestuous barbarians who couldn't find common sense if it bit them on the nose," Pucey's face had hardened and was slowly flushing a dangerous red. Good, his anger would make him lose what little control he possessed which would make it so much easier for Harry to get his point across. "But what's more, while you look upon the muggleborns and their muggle parent's as if they're the vilest vermin of the earth they surpass us in leaps and bounds.

"While we use torches and candles, they have electric lights that can turn on and off with a flip of a switch, while we still struggle to use quills and parchment, they have machines that can type up a full essay in the time it would take you to write out an opening paragraph, while we wait days just to get a single letter by owl, they can have instant conversations with someone who is halfway across the world. So tell me, how does that in any way make _us_ superior?"

"Listen here you little muggle lover," Pucey snarled, "you say you've only just been reintroduced to the wizarding world, so I'll take your word for it, _and_ I'll go one step further and give you a bit of friendly advice. Unless you want to end up like your blood traitor father and mudblood mother, keep your mouth shut and learn to respect your betters."

And suddenly all traces of civility were gone, the moment the slurs had left the older boys mouth Harry's face turned to stone and his eyes glinted with a frightening emerald fire. "No you listen to me, you repulsive, inbred excuse for a wizard," the raven haired boy said words so sharp and cutting and laced with such an intent to hurt, those all the way at the other end of the table flinched away from him. "You came to me hoping to prove your dominance, to show the puny first year Harry Potter just who exactly is in charge, maybe even try to scare me away from Slytherin. Well, you gave it your worst, now it's my turn.

"You called my mother a mudblood, as if I was supposed to be offended, as if I was supposed to leap to her defense when, in truth, I would sooner be a muggleborn, a _mudblood_, before I had to bear the shame of being a pureblood."

"And what do you mean by that?" Pucey growled.

"I mean that there are some pureblood families who are so obsessed with blood purity they would gladly screw their own mother if only to keep their lines pure. You are obviously an example of such a family, you inbred chauvinist," there were gasps and even a few snickers along the table at the first years words.

Incensed by the slight on both him and his family, Pucey's hand dove into his pocket for his wand, but Harry was quicker. Faster than Pucey could ever hope to be, Harry drew his wand and with a quick jab shot a stinging hex strong enough to have the older teen reeling back in his seat clutching the spot on his chest where the hex had hit.

"I may be small," Harry whispered dangerously, "I may only be a first year, but do not mistake my size for weakness and do not mistake my youth for ignorance or you will find yourself sorely wishing you hadn't. No matter how much you would like to believe otherwise, I am stronger, faster, and far more powerful than you could ever wish to be."

As Harry verbally beat the boy who was two years his senior and at least twice as big as he was to a figurative pulp, Draco watched in awe, all the while wondering where in the world the cheerful friendly boy he'd spent hours with on the train had gone.

"You arrogant little-"

"Be _quiet_, this conversation is over, you are not fit to lick the bottom of my boots let alone speak to me as if you were my _equal_, and quite frankly I'm sick of hearing you attempt to butcher your way through the English language. Now go, I'd like to finish my dessert but your presence is putting me off of my appetite," with another flick of his wrist and a twirl of his wand, Pucey was yanked away from the table and marched stiffly back to his seat, like a marionette on strings.

When the third year had settled down to seethe silently amongst his friends, Harry returned to cheerfully eating his treacle tart, ignorant, or perhaps indifferent, to the incredulous stares boring into him.

"You've just made an enemy out of Pucey and all of his friends," Draco whispered.

Harry looked up from his tart and smiled at the blonde. "And I've only been here for an hour, aren't you proud of me Draco?"

"Proud? You've probably turned half of Slytherin against you with some of the things you said They'll be clamoring for your blood."

"Meh, who cares? Mindless sheeple the lot of them."

"Well maybe not the lot," Blaise said. "Like Malfoy said you probably turned _half _of Slytherin against you, the other half seem to be reserving their judgment until they figure a bit more about you."

"Is such a practice commonplace in Slytherin?"

"It's more instinctual than breathing."

"Oh, joy," Harry muttered. Beneath the table his hands fisted into the soft fabric of his robes as he tried to calm the trembles wracking them. He chalked the tremors up to his ill advised use of wandless magic on Pucey and not on nerves or, of all things, fear. No matter how tough Pucey had tried to act he was still just a mortal who, despite being several years older, was not as proficient in magic as Harry was, it wouldn't have taken much effort to subdue him. There was no reason to be scared of the older teen, absolutely no reason at all.

"Keep telling yourself that, Potter," Harry murmured to himself even as his hands continued to shake.

* * *

After the little debacle with Pucey, Harry spent a few minutes stilling his trembling his hands and calming his pounding heart. Despite all of his pomp and the icy indifference he directed towards his relatives, Harry remained wary bordering on uneasy of confrontations with those who were larger or even louder than him. Said aversion remained the most prominent, though not the only, trauma that remained from his abusive past.

But after practically forcing his body to calm down, he was able to enjoy the rest of the feast in peace. When the last of the dessert had been cleared away, Dumbledore gave another, slightly more sane, speech, warned them to stay away from the third floor corridor, conducted a horrible racket that was supposed to be the school song, and then sent the students off to bed.

The Slytherin common room was located in the dungeons under the Black Lake, but despite its less than pleasant location, it was cozy enough and done tastefully in muted greens, silvers, and blacks, all in all a place Harry could get used to. The dorms were of a similar state, they housed large four poster beds with dark green hangings to give some semblance of privacy, and, on the wall opposite of the door, windows charmed to, at the dorm occupant's choice, either reflect the grounds of Hogwarts in their current state or show the depths of the lake.

Harry chose the bed closest to the window and, after changing into his sleep clothes and bidding his dorm mates a goodnight, slipped under his covers and fell instantly asleep.

* * *

Blaise was right, Quirrell was absolutely useless as a teacher, the man seemed terrified of his own subject, he stumbled his way through the lesson with such a horrible stutter the majority of his words came out incomprehensible, even Hermione gave up trying to understand him, but worse, the whole classroom stank of garlic and whenever Quirrell so much as glanced at Harry his scar throbbed painfully, a phenomena he was sure to look into later.

Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic wasn't much better, he spoke in a droning monotone that threatened to lull Harry and the majority of the class into a deep sleep and he seemed obsessed with all things goblin's, specifically their violent rebellions and bloody wars, which was quite a shame as Harry actually thought History of Magic could be an interesting class if given the right teacher.

However, Harry found himself enjoying Charms and Transfiguration a great deal, Hermione's observations on Professor McGonagall proved correct, the woman was a strict, no nonsense woman, but she was a phenomenal teacher, as was Professor Flitwick who made every lesson, no matter how mundane, immensely fun.

Professor Snape however, was a completely different story. The man was menacing, to say the least, his wardrobe consisted of nothing but black clothing, he stalked through the castle with an ever present scowl on his face, and he had the impressive, in Harry's opinion, ability to cut someone down with his words alone. If he had been anyone other than the son of Loki, Harry would have been incredibly intimidated by the dour potions master, but he wasn't, so instead he was fascinated.

Snape was the very first person, other than his father, Harry had trouble reading, Snape's ability to remove all emotion from his face rivaled Harry's own, which was quite a feat. But what really sparked Harry's curiosity was that, upon first meeting him, Snape seemed to absolutely loathe Harry. But as the class progressed and Harry ignored the man's scathing glares and open hostility and continued to come to him with, for the first time during his tenure as Hogwarts professor, intelligent questions on different potions, their ingredients, and the reason why certain ingredients reacted the way they did with each other, his extreme dislike turned to confusion and just a hint of grudging respect.

By the end of his first day day, Harry was exhausted and looking forward to a warm meal to replenish his draining energy, but when he reached the Great Hall, he veered off of the course that would lead him to his house table and headed in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, much to the confusion of Blaise and Draco who had been walking on either side of him.

"Where are you going, Potter?" Draco asked. "The Slytherin table is that way."

"I know where the Slytherin table is, Draco," Harry replied. "And how many times do I have to tell you to call me, Harry, not this Potter nonsense?"

"Well, how many times do I have to tell you that I have not given you permission to call me by my first name?"

"At least once more, as always,"

"Well, if we're not going to Slytherin table, Potter-_Harry_," Blaise amended when he saw the petulant glare aimed his way, "then where _are_ we going?"

"To the Ravenclaw table, of course, we're going to sit with Hermione."

"But we're not in Ravenclaw," Draco protested.

Harry looked pointedly at his silver and green tie. "I'm well aware of that, Draco," he said, "but Hermione is. I _did_ say we were sitting with her. It's not against the rules, is it?"

"Well, no-"

"Good," the raven haired boy crossed the last few feet to the Ravenclaw table and plopped down on the bench next to his bushy haired friend. "Hello, Hermione."

The brunette, who had been engrossed in a thick textbook before his abrupt arrival, startled at the sudden appearance of first Harry, then Draco and Blaise. "Oh, hello Harry, Draco, and…"

"Blaise," the dark haired boy introduced himself, "I'm Blaise Zabini."

"Pleased to meet you, Blaise, I'm Hermione Granger. What are you guys doing here? The Slytherin table is over there."

"So I've been told," Harry sighed. "Has it not occurred to you that we're here because of you? You're my friend aren't you? And friends usually sit together during meals."

"Oh," Hermione flushed lightly, "I've never had a friend before."

"Neither have I," Harry grinned. "Isn't it exciting?"

Not long after the arrival of the three Slytherins, Ron and Neville joined them at the Ravenclaw table, garnering more than a few weird looks from the older students.

"So, Harry," Ron said after he and Neville had been introduced to Blaise, "I've been hearing these interesting rumors about you cursing a seventh year last night at the Welcoming Feast."

"Oh please," Hermione scoffed, "Harry-"

"He was a third year." Harry corrected. "And, for the record, he started it."

"_Harry!_" Hermione exclaimed. "You cursed a third year?"

"Oh, he did more than curse him," Blaise said, "he insulted him a bit, called him an inbred chauvinist if my memory proves correct, then he hit him with a stinging hex."

"Blaise isn't telling it right," Harry whined. "Pucey approached me and had the gall to insult me and my parents, I told him what I thought about that and when he tried to curse me, I dissuaded him with a stinging hex then sent him on his merry way."

"That's not how I remember it," Draco snorted into his potato and leek chowder

"Shut up and eat your soup."

"But why did he approach you in the first place?"

"Well, it's obvious isn't it?"

All eyes turned to Neville who flushed red at the sudden attention and looked as if he's wished he hadn't spoken. "What do you mean, Neville?" Harry prompted.

"I-I mean, well your-you're Harry Potter, and well some of the older Slytherin's, like Pucey, have parents who were sent to Azkaban when You-Know-Who was defeated, I just think that they'd link their parent's being sent to prison directly back to his fall and, you know, back to you. So I wouldn't be surprised if they weren't all that happy with you."

"You're absolutely right, Neville," Hermione praised. "I don't know why I didn't think of that."

"I-I'm sure you would have come up with it eventually," the brown haired boy muttered, looking down at his lap.

"But you came up with it first," Harry smiled. "Good thinking, Neville."

Neville focused on his steak and kidney pie to hide his bright red cheeks.

"Should we be worried about you, mate?" Ron asked in concern. "I could ask Fred and George to prank the Slytherins into leaving you alone if they start bothering you."

"They shouldn't be a problem," Blaise said. "Harry more than proved that he's not to be trifled with when he cursed Pucey last night."

Ron stared at the dark skinned Slytherin in suspicion for several seconds, before finally relenting with a small nod. "All right, if you're sure, but if anything happens to him, it's on you Zabini."

"Consider me warned."

* * *

Again, Blaise turned out to be right, Harry had nothing to fear from his fellow Slytherins. Despite him being the youngest out of all the Slytherins, his show of power during the Welcoming Feast left them wary of him, even Pucey and his gang hadn't tried to start any trouble, although they did seem to enjoy glaring daggers at him whenever he entered the common room. With the threat of retribution hanging in the air, none of the Slytherins tried anything with Harry, and, for a little bit it seemed as if he would have a rather ordinary, but still fairly pleasant year of schooling, he was excelling in all of his classes, his friendship with Ron, Neville, Hermione, Draco, and surprisingly Blaise, were growing stronger by the day, and his attempts at getting Professor Snape to like him were slowly but surely succeeding.

But then the troll came.

It was Halloween and as usual, the group of six first years were sitting together at dinner, this time at the Gryffindor table, they were all caught up in their own discussions, Ron and Neville about Quidditch and Hermione and the three Slytherins about their upcoming Charms quiz when Professor Quirrell came running into the Great Hall turban askew and terror on his face.

"Troll! In the dungeons!" he screamed, no hint of a stutter in his voice. "Thought you ought to know," then the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor dropped to the floor in a dead faint.

Harry watched in amusement as all around him students and teachers began to panic, throwing the hall into chaos. It took several loud firecrackers sent from Dumbledore's wand to calm the masses enough to begin handing out orders. "Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your houses back to your dormitories immediately."

"But, Headmaster," Harry called out in the silence that fell after Dumbledore's orders, "Professor Quirrell said the troll was in the dungeons, don't you think that by sending us to our dorms, the Slytherins run the risk of running into the troll?"

Mutters of agreement rumbled from the Slytherin table, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "You are correct, Mr. Potter," he amended. "Students, remain in the Great Hall until the issue is resolved. Hagrid, Professor Sprout, do you mind watching the children while we find and deal with the troll?"

The two adults agreed without question, and the rest of the teachers went off to find the troublesome troll. It would only take them thirty minutes to find it roaring and wildly swinging its club at the geysers of water shooting from three broken sinks in the girl's bathroom.

* * *

Several weeks following the troll incident, found Harry running through the corridors of Hogwarts with the demonic poltergeist, Peeves, hot on his heels, cackling madly and pelting him with spitballs. He swore when a particularly wet one hit the back of his neck and slid down his shirt, the sound of several more just missing him and hitting a suit of armor instead resonated behind him. He was so focused on dodging the sodden projectiles, Harry almost slammed full speed into the door that marked the end of the corridor, jiggling the doorknob he found it to be locked and so cursed again. But he didn't have time for anymore than that, the poltergeist would reach him at any second and when he did, he was done for.

Harry flicked his wrist and his wand fell easily from its holster and into his hand. "_Alohomora_," he muttered, then ducked through the now unlocked door.

"Stupid poltergeist," he muttered, resting his forehead against the now closed door as he struggled to regain his breath. "I'm the son of the trickster god, I shouldn't be running from a second rate, long dead prankster. Oh what would Dad say?"

As his heart rate steadied, the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears abated and the sound of his breathing became more prominent. Except that wasn't him breathing, it was too loud, too heavy, which meant only one thing, he wasn't as alone as he first thought he was.

Slowly, Harry turned to face his companion and found himself staring into the face of a monstrous dog, it stood easily ten times taller than him and was just as wide, but what was most noticeable were the three heads glaring down at him. It only took his brain a half a second to realize that he was facing a fully grown, somewhat angry looking Cerberus before he turned tail and ran out of what he now realized was the forbidden third floor corridor, Peeves and his spitballs be damned.

* * *

"A _Cerberus_?" Loki muttered incredulously as he slashed ruthlessly at Harry's unprotected chest with a charmed knife. It had been almost a month since Loki had last visited Harry, it was harder to sneak into Hogwarts than it was to visit Privet Drive, and Harry had been bursting to tell his father about his encounter with the giant three headed dog, but Loki couldn't stay for long and he had also been eager to pick up where they had left off on their lessons, so he decided to attempt both at the same time, regaling Loki with his tale while parrying, dodging, and slashing.

"Yes," Harry nodded as he rolled out of the way of Loki's knife. "A Cerberus."

"A fully fledged, three headed, Cerberus?"

"Are there any other kind?"

"What business does a Cerberus have being in a school full of curious, _nosy _children?"

"I think it may have been guarding something," Harry said. "I was in that room for a good minute before I realized there was Cerberus behind me, it had ample time to attack me, but it didn't, it just stood there and growled."

"What do you think it was guarding?"

Harry shrugged as he dove to the ground to avoid another swing. "I couldn't tell for certain as I was too busy running for my life, but it looked like a door in the ground, a trapdoor."

"A trapdoor? To what?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that there's a bloody Cerberus guarding it."

"Are you sure you were seeing it properly?" Loki asked, blocking a well aimed strike. "You said the corridor was dark, perhaps the shadows made it only _seem _as if it had three heads."

"You know that's exactly what Hermione said when I told her and the others," Harry pouted "It's as if you don't trust me."

"I do, little trickster, of course I do," Loki assured him. "….But a _Cerberus_?"

Harry threw his knife at Loki's head.

* * *

The months following the Cerberus incident bought several more visits from Loki, several study sessions with his friends (they had, much to Harry's delight, learned to tolerate each other's presence), and even a run in with Adrian Pucey and his friends that had ended up with both Harry and Pucey in the hospital wing, Pucey with a mild concussion after being knocked over the head with Hermione's levitated textbooks, and Harry for taking a nasty cutting curse aimed at Draco's chest to the arm. The altercation had landed him in detention with the groundskeeper, Hagrid, who at first was wary of Harry if only because of his Slytherin colors, but soon warmed up to him. After that, the detention was much more enjoyable as the enormous man regaled him with tales of his mother and adopted father's Hogwarts days. By the end of his allotted detention time, Harry was pleased to say that he had made a new friend.

Christmas came and went with his small group of friends celebrating in the Ravenclaw common room, for the first time he could remember, Harry received presents from someone other than his father, he was pleased to say that he was now in possession of several dozen books on varying subjects, a box of chocolate frogs, a Weasley knit sweater and some homemade fudge, a glass figurine of a lion with a lily clamped between its jaws, a wooden flute, and, oddly enough, an invisibility cloak that came with an anonymous note informing him that it was his late adopted father's own invisibility cloak.

As a result of the cloak gifted to him, Harry took it upon himself to prove himself the son of the trickster god and, if Hagrid's stories were to be believed, the heir of one of Hogwarts' greatest pranksters.

The New Year was met with a slew of pranks not seen since the time of the Marauders.

* * *

Loki sighed softly as he stared down at his son's sleeping form, gently he ran his hand along his head and through his thick, dark hair. It had been years since he had sat beside Harry as he slept, but after the rigorous training that had run late into the night the boy could barely remain on his own feet, let alone make it to his dorm, so Loki, under a heavy spell that turned any attention away from him and Harry, carried him to his dorms. But after divesting Harry of his shoes and jeans, and tucking him into bed, he found himself unable to leave his son's side, so he climbed into the large bed beside him and secured the hangings shut with a wave of his hand.

As he lay in the bed watching his son's peaceful face as he slept, Loki felt a wave of melancholy wash over him. Harry had much in his future, not all of it good, there would be death, and betrayal, and pain, so much pain, it, Loki wanted nothing more than to take him to Asgard, where he would be happy and loved and _safe_. But he couldn't, not while the question of Harry's mortality remained unanswered. For as he had told Lily all of those years ago, not even he could be sure if his son had inherited his immortality. Harry's blood sang of the strength and longevity of an Asgardian, but with all of the fragility of a mortal, the way Loki read it, Harry could live for thousands upon thousands of years or he could die within a hundred, still just a babe compared to the years he had endured. But just the mention of his boy dying brought his heart to his throat and made him feel as if he were slowly suffocating, it was not a thought he could dwell upon for long.

Harry was his favorite, never had he tried to delude himself into thinking that this was not true, of all the children he had birthed and sired (1), he loved Harry the most. Maybe if he had been given the chance to love the others before they had been so callously taken from him he would have loved them as he loved his son, but they had so he couldn't.

And that was another reason he could not take Harry to Asgard, after having his children chained like wild animals, exiled like criminals, he could not bring Harry to his father attention and risk having him taken away. If something were to happen to Harry on his father or anyone else's account, he didn't think he would be able to control his actions, he would do _anything_ to protect his son, and if, Odin forbid, he was not able to protect him he would seek revenge until his dying breath.

For as that old muggle said, there is no love greater than that of a father's for his son.

* * *

For what felt like the hundredth time in just that hour, Harry's attention was diverted from his book when his head throbbed painfully, he'd been getting awful headaches for days now, but as the week progressed they continued to get increasingly more painful and frequent until he was dealing with a perpetual headache that grew to be borderline migraines on more than one occasion. When the pain first started up, he feared he had contracted some sort of illness, but when no other symptoms showed themselves he was forced to reconsider the reason behind his headaches.

"Harry what in the world is wrong with you?" Hermione said, snapping her book shut and subsequently attracting the attention of Draco, Blaise, Neville, and Ron, all of whom had similar books sitting before them as they studied for their upcoming end of year exams. "You've been fidgeting ever since we've sat down."

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry said only a tad contritely, his horrible headache was preventing him from feeling much guilt for disturbing her studying. "Just a bit distracted."

"Are you alright, Harry?" Blaise asked, brows furrowed in concern. "You do look a little pale."

"I've got a bit of a headache, but it'll pass," the raven haired boy said, waving away their concerns.

"Maybe we should take a break from studying," Hermione suggested. "We _have _been at it for a while now."

"Do my ears deceive me?" Draco drawled. "Is the bookworm extraordinaire suggesting we actually _stop studying_?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Ron said with very little malice, their relationship had progressed to civil terms over the course of the year. "Before she changes her mind and makes us keep reading."

"What do you propose we do, Hermione?" Neville asked.

"I was thinking we could visit Hagrid," the Ravenclaw suggested after his detention with the groundskeeper, Harry had introduced him to his friends, Hagrid had been suspicious of the Slytherins, Draco especially, but as he had with Harry, he eventually warmed up to them, prompting many more visits to his little hut on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.

"I think that's a brilliant idea," Harry said, already tossing his books into his bag. "A bit of fresh air would do us good."

Murmuring their agreement, the first years packed up their belongings and trekked down to Hagrid's hut, however, upon arriving there, they were met with a most unusual sight. The curtains were drawn tightly shut over all of the windows, and once they were ushered hastily in by an anxious looking Hagrid, they found the hut to be stiflingly hot, most likely due to the fire roaring inside the fireplace.

"What on earth are you doing in here, Hagrid?" Harry asked, fanning his already slightly sweaty face, he had never liked the heat.

"And what in Merlin's name is that?" Ron questioned, everyone turned to see him pointing at a huge egg nestled in the very heart of the fire. "Please, don't tell me that's what I think it is, Hagrid."

"I don' know what you think it is," Hagrid said nervously "Tea?"

"It looks like an egg to me," Blaise said as all six of them crowded around the fire to get a closer look.

"If not, tea, how 'bout some sandwiches?"

"But what kind of egg?" Neville asked prodding it with a fire poker, they all yelped and leapt back a good five feet when the egg began rocking.

Hagrid was behind them immediately "What? What happened?"

"It moved," Hermione whispered, watching in fascination as the unidentified egg began rocking back and forth.

"It's ready!" Hagrid excitedly grabbed a long pair of tongs, pulled the egg out of the fire, and deposited it onto the table.

"_What_ exactly is ready?" Draco asked, watching as a long crack split down the shell.

The groundskeeper didn't respond, he just pulled up a chair and sat down at the table, watching the egg intently, the others had no other choice, but to follow suit.

They sat there for what must have been hours, sometimes talking, but most of the time staring blankly at the egg as more and more cracks appeared and a soft clicking noise emanated from the egg.

"It's nearly out," Hagrid whispered, and, after only a few more minutes, there was an odd scraping sound and the egg cracked open, from it emerged a baby dragon.

"Bloody hell," Ron cried, backing away from the table. "That's a dragon."

"I know." Hagrid beamed. "Isn't he beautiful?"

Beautiful wasn't exactly what Harry would call the scaled creature. Interesting, perhaps. Odd to look at, no doubt. But beautiful? In his opinion it looked a bit like a crumpled, black umbrella, its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny little body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, and stubs of horns that hovered over bulging, orange eyes.

"Where did you get a _dragon _from, Hagrid?" Neville breathed.

"Won him a few nights ago. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"What did this man look like?" Harry asked suspiciously. Being in possession of a dragon egg was illegal, there was no way someone would just happen to have one they were willing to give away for free.

"Dunno," Hagrid shrugged, "he wouldn' take his cloak off," he saw Harry's eyebrows furrow and quickly continued. "It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head, that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up.

"What did you talk to him about?"

Hagrid frowned as he thought over the conversation. "He asked what I did, an' I told him I was groundskeeper here. He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I took after, so I told him an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon., an' then... I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks….Let's see…yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted, but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home…So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…"

"Fluffy?" Hermione asked.

"My dog, big ol' thing, three heads and everything, but swee' as can be. Bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the-"

"The what, Hagrid?" Blaise prompted.

"Nothin', I shouldn' a said nothin' to begin with."

Hagrid looked furious with himself so Harry, in hopes of both lifting his spirits a bit and distracting his friends from the conversation, changed the subject. "Whatever Fluffy's guarding right now isn't important, we've already got our own problems to deal with."

That seemed to do the trick, everyone looked to him in confusion. "What problem, mate?" Ron asked.

"The dragon," all eyes turned to the little black dragon who was curiously tottering around the table.

"Problem? He's no problem." Hagrid said defensively.

"Potter's right," Harry rolled his eyes, Draco was still refusing to call him by his first name, if only to annoy him. "You live in a wooden hut, once that dragon goes _achoo_ you're going to be left with nothing but a pile of burnt firewood you once called home and a slew of questions you won't have answers to."

"You're going to have to set him free," Neville said softly to the distressed looking groundskeeper.

"But I can'!" Hagrid wailed. "He'll die out there on his own."

"I could always write my brother Charlie a letter," Ron hesitantly offered. "He works at a dragon reserve in Romania, I'm sure they'd be happy to take him in."

"That's brilliant, Ron!" Harry exclaimed. "So, what do you say, Hagrid?"

The giant man sniffled a few times and dabbed at his eyes with the corner of a handkerchief before nodding reluctantly. "All righ', I guess we can do that."

After saying their goodbyes, the group of six headed back up to the castle and to the owlery, where they carefully penned a letter to Charlie. Several days passed before they received a reply, arrangements were made, and their plan went off without a hitch, Hagrid tearfully bade the dragon he'd christened Norbert, goodbye as a small group of Charlie's friends carried him off on their brooms.

* * *

With all of the commotion surrounding Norbert, studying, and taking the end of term exams, Hermione, Draco, Neville, Blaise, and Ron had completely forgot about their conversation with Hagrid over Fluffy and whatever he was guarding, but Harry hadn't and the curiosity was eating him alive. Unfortunately, he was too busy to act on this curiosity and investigate until after exams, he spent several hours lounging by the lake with them, but after dinner, he bid them goodnight with the excuse that he was dead tired and hurried to the third floor corridor.

Everything was exactly the same as when he'd last left it, except for the fact that Fluffy the Cerberus was laying fast asleep with the trapdoor wide open beside him and a charmed harp playing a soft tune above him.

And just like that his curiosity turned to hesitation, someone was already down there, good or bad he couldn't be sure, the only thing he could be sure of was that his father would skin him alive for jumping into a situation without having all of the information like his bull headed Uncle Thor he had told him so much about. But Harry was _really_ curious, besides, he had his invisibility cloak, as long as he remained underneath it, nothing could go wrong.

* * *

It only took an encounter with a group of touch happy weeds, a flock of winged keys, a giant homicidal chess set, an unconscious troll, and an interesting riddle that would lead to either escape, success, or a painful death by poison before he realized that _a lot _could go wrong, invisibility cloak or not, but by the time he came to this realization it was too late to turn back, so he downed the potion in the smallest bottle in one gulp and stepped through the black flames.

For a moment he could see nothing but black fire, but then he stepped through, and found himself in a large, cavernous chamber with nothing but an enormous mirror standing directly in the middle of the room, but he wasn't alone. Professor Quirrell, in all of his purple turbaned glory was facing the large mirror muttering to himself, but the moment Harry entered the room he spun around, a calm expression on his face. Warning signs sounded in Harry's mind, but the sudden headache that flared whenever Quirrell was around severely hindered his ability to think straight.

"Ah, Potter," the professor said with no hint of his usual stutter. "I was wondering whether I'd be meeting you here."

"Unfortunately, I can't say the same for you, Professor," Harry managed to grit out around the pain "You don't cross my thoughts very often," Harry eyed the man critically, and came to the conclusion that whatever his motives were for coming down here, they were far from pure. "But that's what you wanted, isn't it? To be ignored? Looked over, so you could work out your evil little plot beyond the prying eyes of students and teachers alike."

"Brilliant deduction," Quirrell said condescendingly. "You truly are a bright young wizard, you could have done much for this world. Too bad I'll have to kill you."

Harry felt his blood freeze, his heart began racing in fear, but he forced himself to keep it hidden. With a flick of his wrist his wand fell easily into his hand. "You can try," the statement came out sounding much braver than he felt.

Quirrell laughed heartily at this. "Oh, what courage," he said in between chuckles. "You would have done well in Gryffindor, but I am a fully trained wizard, you have no hope of defeating me."

Harry didn't give the man time to attack, grimly he swept his wand in a violent slash and watched as Quirrell staggered back as if he'd been struck by an invisible fist.

"Wha-?" Harry slashed his wand again and he fell back another step. "Stop that!" Quirrell's turban was askew and his cheeks were flushed a mottled red.

"Stop what?" Harry asked innocently as he struck him once more. "I'm not doing anything."

"_Incarecerous_!" Harry easily sidestepped the coil of ropes and shot a cutting hex back all the while cursing himself and his damn curiosity.

"_Diffindo! Confundus! Crucio!_" Harry managed to easily dodge the first, but when sidestepping the second he stepped directly into the path of the third. The moment the curse hit, Harry felt a pain like no other ripping through his veins, boiling his blood and melting his bones. He fell to his knees, gasping in pain, but the years of abuse he'd suffered at the hands of his so called relatives had taught him how to endure the pain in silence.

"Not so tough now, are you, Potter?" Quirrell taunted, but his voice sounded different, more sibilant, and cruel. "Go on and scream for me boy, I know you want to, too bad there's no one here to hear the lovely sound you'd make."

Through the agonizing pain, Harry managed to tighten his grip on his wand and, with a great effort pointed it at Quirrell and gasped, "_Diffindo_," the curse shot out in a streak of white light and hit his target. As the man fell back with a strangled shriek, the curse lifted and the pain disappeared, allowing Harry to slowly catch his breath and regain control over his limbs.

It took several failed attempts to climb to his feet, but eventually he managed and staggered over to where Quirrell lay sprawled on the ground. But the moment he saw what his spell had done, what little control he did have left him and he found himself on his knees beside his professor. The severing charm had hit Quirrell directly in the neck, leaving his throat a mangled bloody mess.

"Oh no," the eleven year old boy gasped, in that moment he forgot that the man had just been trying to kill him, he forgot the horrible pain inflicting curse he'd put him under, all he could think about was that the man was dying right in front of him, and it was all his fault. "Oh no, Professor Quirrell hang on, I can fix this. Just-just hang on and-and don't die," he reached for his wand, desperately thinking of anything he could use to heal the man, but for all his training he was unable to think of a single one.

"Dammit!" Harry cried, tearing a strip from the bottom of his shirt to press against the bloody wound in hopes of staunching the bleeding. "Just give me a second, Professor," he gasped, unaware of the tears wetting his cheek. "Just give me a second. I can fix this, I can. I know I can,"

As he moved to press the strip of cloth against Quirrell's neck with violently shaking hands, Quirrell wrapped a hand around his wrist, halting his movements. "No," the man choked. "Leave me."

"Are you mad!" Harry cried hysterically, frustratedly swiping a hand across his eyes. "You'll die!"

"He's still…inside me. Might…be able to…k-kill…"

"What? Who? Who's inside you? Who can you kill?"

"Vol-Volde…"

"Voldemort?" Harry gasped incredulously.

"I was…to be host…until St-st-stone…elixir brings him back."

"Professor, you're not making any sense. What stone? What elixir?"

Quirrell's breath grew more ragged as blood flowed into his lungs. "So…sorry," he managed to choke, before he took one last gasping breath then fell still.

"Professor?" Harry whispered. "P-professor Quirrell?" he reached out to grab the man's shoulder's, intent on shaking him back to life, but the moment he touched him a black mist suddenly surged from Quirrell's body and slammed into Harry's chest, he only had a second to wonder what in the world had just happened before he fell to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

Harry didn't know how long he remained unconscious, it could have been minutes, hours, days, maybe even weeks, he had no way of knowing. All he knew was that waking up after being knocked unconscious by an evil entity that may or may not have been the murderer of his mother and stepfather was not at all like how it was in the movies, there was no slow waking up to find himself surrounded by loved ones, only a sudden jolt back to awareness complete with heavy bouts of dizziness and nausea and no company but that of the stern school nurse and the creepy headmaster.

Groaning, Harry leaned back against his pillow in hopes of getting the world to stop spinning and coaxing his stomach from where it was wedged in his throat.

"What happened?" he rasped after several minutes spent recovering.

"You had quite the run in, it seems, with Quirrell and the spirit of Lord Voldemort."

Harry felt his body tense. "I killed him," he whispered.

"I and all of the proper officials can assure you that it was in self defense, Quirrell had cast the Cruciatus on you, it was perfectly justifiable."

"No it wasn't." Harry snapped. "It was not, he was being possessed by Voldemort-"

"No, he was carrying Voldemort's soul." Dumbledore corrected. "He was not being possessed. Quirrell's actions were his own."

"Possessed or not, I still killed him. He was a human being and I took his life, I'm a killer."

"My dear boy-"

Harry cut the Headmaster off before he could irritate him further with his meaningless attempts at comfort. "What was Quirrell after?"

Dumbledore looked surprised. "You did not know?"

"If I did, would I be asking?" Harry knew he was being disrespectful to his headmaster, but he could hardly bring himself to care.

"No you wouldn't, as you already know, Professor Quirrell was hosting the soul of Voldemort in his own body, in an attempt to regain a mortal form and, in turn, immortality, he ordered Quirrell to retrieve the Sorcerer's Stone, an object created by the famous alchemist Nicholas Flamel, the stone has the ability to-"

"Turn normal metals into silver and gold and give the drinker of its elixir immortality, I know of it."

"Exactly, there is no reason for me to tell you that Quirrell was unsuccessful in his attempt as you were there when it happened."

Harry knew Dumbledore was waiting for him to explain what had happened, but he wasn't giving it up that easy. "What happened to the stone?"

The twinkle that had been sparkling irritatingly from the old man's eye dimmed just a fraction. "It was destroyed, but Nicholas and his wife have just enough of the elixir left to set their affairs in order before they pass on."

Harry nodded. "Voldemort's going to try a different way to come back."

"I daresay he is." Dumbledore agreed. "Do you think he will succeed?"

"I think it's less a matter of _if_ he will succeed, and more of a _when_." Harry said. "And when he does, will we be ready?"

* * *

Not long after his, in Harry's opinion, rather profound question, Dumbledore left the hospital wing with a deeply contemplative expression marring his wrinkled face. But his presence was soon replaced with the much more welcome ones of his friends, all of whom piled into the hospital wing only moments after his departure and crowded around his bed.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're alright, Harry," Hermione cried pulling him into a rib crushing hug. "When Dumbledore told us what happened we were so worried, especially when he wouldn't let us come and see you right away."

"Well there's no need to worry anymore." Harry assured. "I'm alright."

"Are you sure? Nothing hurts? You're not dizzy or nauseous? Maybe I should get Madam Pomfrey, just to be sure-"

"He's obviously speaking the truth, Granger. So quit your harping as it's getting quite bothersome," Draco turned a critical eye on Harry. "But regardless if you're alright or not, you need to be more careful," the blonde scolded, "and learn to mind your step, you could have been seriously hurt."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Mind-mind my step?" he repeated. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you not remember what happened?" Blaise asked worriedly.

"I…" Harry trailed off as he recalled the events of the previous night. Had he forgotten something?

"You fell down the stairs and hit your head," Neville explained. "The Bloody Baron found you and told the professors."

I didn't fall down the stairs!" Harry cried.

"But Dumbledore said-"

"Dumbledore lied. I went back to the Cerberus."

"You what?" Draco cried. "What are you a witless Gryffindor?"

"Watch it, Malfoy," Ron warned.

"Shut it, Weasley. What in Merlin's name possessed you to go back there?"

"I was curious, the Cerberus was guarding something and I wanted to see what. I was just going to take a quick peek, I'd planned on staying under the invisibility cloak and everything."

"But…?" Blaise prompted.

Sighing, Harry recounted his experience, detailing all of the tasks, what he had to do to get past them, and what happened after he did. He watched as their faces morphed from admiration, to shock upon finding out about Quirrell, to horror when he explained the horrible curse the professor had put him under.

"The Cruciatus." Neville whispered. "That's what he put you under," the boy looked sick. "Using it, or any of its sister spells, the Imperius or the Killing Curse, will land you in Azkaban for life."

"And it'd be nothing more than the miserable bastard deserves." Ron said furiously.

"He's dead."

The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at Harry who suddenly held an intense fascination with his hands.

"Dead?" Hermione repeated. "How?"

"I killed him," Harry's voice shook lightly. "The curse was horrible, it hurt so bad I could barely even breathe, but somehow I got hold of my wand, and I shot the first spell I could think at him. The severing charm hit him right in the neck. He-he died while I sat there and did _nothing._"

"Oh, Harry, it was self defense." Hermione tried to comfort him. "He was torturing you, it wasn't your fault."

"He was being influenced by Voldemort," at his friends horrified and confused looks, Harry elaborated further, explaining the man's death and his final words in detail, as well as the event that had led to his ending up in the infirmary.

"So Voldemort's not dead," Ron said tonelessly.

"No, and he's going to get a body eventually, and when he does he's going to come after me. So I…I'd understand if you guys don't want anything to do with me, being my friend will only put you in danger."

"Are you mad?" the redhead cried. "You're my friend, Harry, and no crazy dark wizard is going to change that. Besides, it's not me you should be worried about."

All eyes turned to Draco who puffed up in offense. "What, you think because my father was a Death Eater I'll become one as well?" he glared at Harry. "Well you're wrong, all of you. When I shook your hand on the train, Potter, I made my choice, whatever happens, whether it be crazy groundskeepers with a soft spot for dragons, or megalomaniacal dark lords who have you on the top of their kill lists, I'm with you, and no amount of whining is going to change that. So…so you might as well suck it up and get used to it, because I'm here to stay."

Harry stared at the blonde in awe, and even Ron gaze just might have held a hint of respect. "Thank you, Draco, you don't know how much that means to me."

"He's not the only one," Blaise said. "I don't plan on giving you up anytime, Harry."

"Me neither," Neville said.

"Nor I," Hermione added.

As his friends declared their intentions of sticking by his side come hell or high water, Harry felt the tight knot in his chest ease just a bit. He wasn't alright, not by a long shot, but being with his friends, just talking and joking around, assured him that in time, he would be.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter came out sounding a bit choppier than I would've liked, no doubt because I was trying to cover an entire year in eighteen pages, but hopefully you still enjoyed it, especially the much anticipated telling off.**

**On another more serious note, over on Archive of Our Own, Akuma_River and I have decided we're going to team up and take over the world. Anyone who would like to apply for the position as our followers please leave a comment in the little box below.**

(1) Loki's children will be playing a part in the Marvel arc of the story, I've decided to use his four most well-known children, Fenris, Slepnir, Jormungandr, and Hela.


	5. Chapter Four

**A/N: Hello, lovelies. I'm so sorry for the long wait, this particular chapter has been giving me quite a bit of trouble, I'm still not completely satisfied with it, but I won't make you wait any longer. So here you go.**

**Oh, and to all those who have signed up to join my plot to take over the world, huzzah! And to those who have yet to join in, you still have a bit of time to join in.**

* * *

_Some say the world will end in fire,_

_Some say in ice._

_From what I've tasted of desire_

_I hold with those who favor fire._

_But if it had to perish twice,_

_I think I know enough of hate_

_To say that for destruction ice_

_Is also great_

_And would suffice_.

* * *

Harry had always been a light sleeper. After years spent being woken at all hours of the night to perform some menial task or another for the Dursley's his body had conditioned itself to never fall to deep into a slumber. This particular skill was a pain when sharing a dormitory with five other boys as both Crabbe and Goyle snored like you wouldn't believe and Blaise had the tendency to mutter nonsense in his sleep. So when someone began gently running their fingers through his hair, he was awake in a matter of seconds. Harry forced his body to remain relaxed in the uncomfortable hospital bed kept and his breathing deep and even, but his visitor wasn't fooled for even a second.

"I know you're awake, Haraldr. Open your eyes, we have things to discuss."

Harry winced, the use of his full name and his father's ominous words did not bode well for him, add to that Loki's flat voice, devoid of any emotion, and he knew that he was in trouble. Big trouble.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and peered up at his father. It was late in the night, or early in the morning depending on how one looked at it, and the hospital wing was almost completely dark. Torches strategetically placed along the wall cast the room in shadows and hid most of Loki's features from view.

The flickering shadows made it hard for Harry to discern his father's expression, the thoughts and emotions he'd been to taught to read were lost to the darkness, which meant that Harry couldn't plan his words and actions accordingly. So he tried for an endearing smile and silently hoped for the best, but it didn't seem to move the man in the slightest. "'lo Dad."

"What were you thinking?"

Harry grimaced, it seemed that there would be no beating around the bush, or careful broaching of the subject, Loki was going straight for the kill. "I'm sorry," he muttered pushing himself up into a sitting position in the mildly uncomfortable hospital bed.

"I didn't ask if you we're sorry," Loki said coldly. "I want to know _what _you were _thinking_?"

"I-I wasn't."

"Obviously, and that is a problem."

"Is it?"

"Yes, it is," Loki snapped. "You willingly put yourself in danger tonight. You jumped headfirst into a situation you knew nothing about and almost died because of it."

"I know, it was stupid, I'm sorry," Harry said meekly. "But in my defense I figured Dumbledore had a lifetime supply of lemon drops or an all male brothel hidden under the school, not trolls, and giant chess sets, and evil, should be dead dark lords growing off of the back of my Defense professor's head. So if there's anyone to blame for my current condition, it should be the headmaster for hiding an artifact that he _knows _the dark lord would be interested in, in a school full of nosy children."

"So you don't think you were in the wrong at all?" Loki said, he seemed calm for the most part, he was still idly playing with Harry's hair and the little of his face Harry could see was relaxed, but he knew not to be fooled, Loki was well known for hiding the most terrifying of emotions under a tranquil, incredibly misleading front. "The headmaster was entirely at fault for tonight's actions?"

"I wouldn't say he's entirely at fault," Harry said hesitantly. "But I do believe that if he'd been wiser in his choices none of this would have happened. I mean, it wasn't exactly the brightest idea to hide such a dangerous artifact here."

"I agree."

Harry's brow rose in surprise. "You do?"

"I do," Loki confirmed. "Dumbledore was not taking in account the possible ramifications of his actions when he decided to hide that blasted stone here. Because of this, I can no longer trust him with the safety of my son, thus I have come to the conclusion that you will not be returning next year."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You can't be serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because-because you can't pull me out of Hogwarts, you just can't!"

"You almost died, Haraldr," Loki snarled, his calm façade suddenly falling, replaced with a terrifying fury. "You could have _died_. Your headmaster's stupidity put your life and the lives of hundreds of others of children in danger. You _will not _be returning next year."

"Dad, please-"

"There will be no debate, Haraldr. Dumbledore has proven that he does not have the abilities required to keep you safe, so I will no longer allow him to try."

"Of course he doesn't," Harry said desperately. "No one does, that's why you've been teaching me how to protect _myself_. Don't you trust me and all the things I've learned."

"Of course I do," Loki said. "You are powerful, incredibly so, and one day you will be an incredible warrior, but that day is not today. You are still a child, Harry, young and inexperienced, and there are men out there, men like Voldemort, who are older and more powerful than you. You need to be protected until you are fully capable of protecting yourself, and that is something Dumbledore has proven time and time again that he is unable to do."

"So where will I go?" Harry asked bitterly. "Back to the Dursley's where they can belittle me, make me feel unwanted, lower than dirt? Would you really send me back to them?"

"No, I would not. I will take you, we will leave to some forgotten corner of the universe and live out our lives in peace, free from worry, and fear, and expectations that we couldn't possibly live up to."

Harry smiled sadly. "And what happens to our family, to my friends?" he asked. "Will we forget about them? And do you honestly believe that they will forget about us? They will search every nook and cranny of the universe, and they won't give up until they've found us."

"You underestimate me."

"And you underestimate them and the sheer tenacity those searching for those they love posses," Harry looked up at his father pleadingly. "We can't leave, if we do we'll constantly be running, hiding from those who want to find us, peace will be nothing more than a pipe dream. It's about time that we accept that no matter what I do or where I go, I will always be in danger, you simply have to trust that I can take care of myself. The only way I can become stronger and more experienced than the people who want to hurt me is if I get experience of my own, but I can't do that if you keep me locked away in some gilded cage for my own protection."

"Harry-"

"Please, Dad. Trust me."

Loki's entire body seemed to deflate. "I'm just trying to keep you safe," he said solemnly. "If something were to happen to you, I would never forgive myself."

"You can't protect me forever."

"I know," Loki sighed heavily. "Alright, I'll allow you to stay, but we'll be increasing your training this summer. It's time I taught you how to properly defend yourself."

Harry beamed threw his arms around Loki's neck in a crushing hug. "Thank you,"

"Anything for you, little trickster," he murmured, pressing a kiss to his son's head as he tried to ignore the feeling of trepidation settling in his gut.

* * *

Harry was released from the hospital wing in just enough time attend the leaving feast where he cheered along with the rest of Slytherin house when they won the house cup for the seventh year in a row thanks to their stellar performance on the Quidditch pitch. And just like that the year was over. Wardrobes were emptied, trunks were packed, and pets were found, all of the students received and promptly disregarded notes warning them not to use magic over the holidays, then Hagrid took them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake and they boarded the Hogwarts Express. The train ride was spent talking and laughing as the countryside became greener, eating Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns, and pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats just before the train pulled into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.

Harry reluctantly said goodbye to his friends, thanked Mrs. Weasley for the hand-knit sweater and fudge, then approached his relatives, all of whom looked appropriately horrified at the mere sight of him. They grunted at him in greeting, then turned swiftly and marched to the car, not even bothering to offer their help or to even see if he was following.

Harry spared one last wave and a grim smile to his friends before following the Dursley's to the car. The hour long trip to Little Whinging was spent in near complete silence, broken only by the low hum of the engine and Vernon's occasional rants at slow drivers. When they finally pulled up to Privet Drive the Dursley's hurried up the drive and left Harry to haul his things up to his bedroom. After his trunk was placed neatly at the foot of his bed and Hedwig's empty cage was set on the rickety old desk, Harry collapsed onto his bed and stared glumly up at the ceiling.

"There's no place like home."

* * *

"Now, as we all know, today, is a very important day."

Harry looked up from his plate of bacon and eggs to his uncle who was sitting at the head of the table, trying to look important. He knew he wasn't talking about his birthday, which so happened to be today, so what was he talking about?

"This could very well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career."

Ah, that was it, how could he have forgotten? Vernon had only been talking of nothing else for the past two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife were coming to dinner and Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from him.

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said Uncle Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be…?"

"In the lounge," Aunt Petunia replied promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."

"Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door," Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

"They'll _love _him!" Aunt Petunia cried rapturously.

"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry "And _you_?"

Harry arched an eyebrow and, in an impressive imitation of his father's silky tone, said, "I'll be in bedroom, I presume, pretending as if I don't exist?"

"Precisely."

"I can't make any promises," Harry shrugged, turning most of his attention back on his breakfast, "we'll just have to see how accommodating I'm feeling," Vernon's face turned red, and it looked as if he was physically restraining himself from lashing out, something Harry was quick to call him out for. "Is there a problem, Uncle?"

"No," Vernon managed to say between his tightly clenched teeth. "No problem at all," Vernon forcefully looked away from Harry and back to his family. "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen…"

"I'll announce dinner."

"And, Dudley, you'll say…"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?" said Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed Aunt Petunia.

Vernon aimed a glare at Harry, when he made a soft sound of amusement, but otherwise ignored him. "Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

"Vernon tells me you're a _wonderful _golfer, Mr. Mason… _Do _tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason…"

"Perfect… Dudley?"

"How about…'We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about _you._'"

This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Harry. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son, while Harry finally released his pent up laughter. The Dursley's all turned to glare at him.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, wiping tears from his face. "But do you honestly believe anyone would believe that tripe?"

"We wouldn't expect you to understand, boy."

Harry chose to ignore his tone and the unpleasant title he'd given him, although he certainly wouldn't allow it to go on for much longer lest they fall back on old habits. "I suppose you wouldn't. My apologies, please, continue."

"When dinner's over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia," Vernon said stiffly, "and I'll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten. We'll be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time tomorrow."

"How wonderful," Harry smirked, "I've always wanted to go to Majorca."

Chuckling at his relatives horrified looks, Harry slunk away from the table and up to his bedroom where he settled down to finish the last of his summer homework. By the time the sun had set, he had finished his Potions essay and was well on his way to completing his Transfiguration paper as well when he decided to take a break from his work and get something to eat.

"Dinner smells divine, Aunt." Harry said waltzing into the kitchen. "What are we having?"

Petunia, who was washing the last of the dishes, tensed when he entered the room. "We're having a separate dinner with the Masons." she said. "But I made you that steak and kidney pie you like, as well as treacle tart….For your birthday."

Harry arched an eyebrow, she was probably trying to bribe him into behaving while the Mason's were over, but he didn't mind as long as he got treacle tart. "How kind of you," he retrieved the plate of food from the kitchen table, "I think I'll take this to my room, I wouldn't want to be in your way."

"Thank you," Petunia muttered without looking at him.

Humming softly, Harry took his food up to his bedroom, but froze in the act of closing the door when he saw the odd creature sitting on his bed. The little creature had large, bat-like ears, bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls, and a long, thin nose. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm and leg-holes. After taking a nice long look at the creature, he recognized it from his text on magical creatures as a house elf.

"Harry Potter!" the elf said in a squeaky high pitched voice.

Harry quickly shut his door the rest of the way, set his food on the desk, and, with a wave of his hand, set up a charm that prevented any sound from leaving his room just as the doorbell rang downstairs. It was technically illegal to use magic over the summer, but as long as he didn't use his wand, the Ministry would remain none the wiser.

"Er, hello," Harry said, settling down in his desk chair. "If you don't mind my asking, who are you? And what are you doing in my bedroom?"

"I am Dobby the house elf, sir," the little creature squeaked. "And Dobby is here to tell, sir…well, it's very difficult, sir…Dobby wonders where to begin."

"How about we start with who sent you?"

Dobby flinched. "Nobody sent Dobby, sir. Dobby came here by himself."

"But why?"

"Dobby has come to warn the great Harry Potter, sir! He must not go back to Hogwarts."

"Okay," Harry said slowly. "Why don't you explain why?"

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"What is this plot? And who's behind it?"

Dobby made an odd strangling noise and then frantically began banging his head upon the wall. Harry leapt to his feet and grabbed the elf around his waist, forcefully pulling him away from the wall. Silently he praised himself for having the foresight to silence his room as Dobby's squeals of pain were deafening.

"Stop, Dobby," Harry said firmly. "You've punished yourself enough. Alright?"

Only when the elf nodded in agreement did Harry set him down, he watched suspiciously as Dobby weaved drunkenly around the room for a few minutes, regaining his bearings.

"Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts," he said after several minutes of silence.

"Yeah, we covered that already," Harry said. "Evil things are going down this year, but _what_? Give me something specific."

"Dobby cannot say," the elf moaned. "Dobby cannot say."

"Is Voldemort-" Dobby squealed in terror, "_You-Know-Who _behind it?"

Dobby hesitated, then shook his head slowly, but he stared intently at Harry as he did so, as if attempting to relay a clue.

"Okay, he's not behind it, but if whoever _is _behind it succeeds, will it result in You-Know-Who getting his body back?"

This time he received a nod.

"Alright, then I definitely have to go back."

"But the great Harry Potter cannot!"

"I have to, if I don't go, my friends will be in danger."

"The friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the shifty looking house elf, he hadn't received a single letter from any of his friends this summer, at first he thought it had something to do with the wards preventing his friends' owls from finding him, but after he sent Hedwig to collect any letters and she turned up slightly ruffled and with nothing to give him, he realized that she was being intercepted, but by who, he hadn't been sure of, until now.

"Have you been taking my letters?" he asked dangerously.

"Dobby has them here, sir," the house elf meekly pulled out dozens of letters from under his pillowcase and even what looked like shrunken down parcels. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry… Dobby hoped if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him, Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir."

"Give me my letters."

"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. There is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"I will say no such thing."

"Then Harry Potter will not be getting his letters."

Harry snarled and lunged at Dobby, the little creature didn't expect the sudden attack so all he had time to do was squeak in fright before the twelve year old was upon him, wrestling with him for the stack of letters.

"Give me my letters, Dobby!" he cried, attempting to pry the elf's thin fingers open.

"Dobby will not!"

Harry had only just managed to gain the upper hand in the bizarre fight when there was a soft cough from behind them. Both boy and elf froze and slowly turned to face their unexpected visitor.

"Well, isn't this an interesting sight."

Harry wrenched the letters from Dobby's slackened grip and leapt to his feet. "Dad," he gasped breathlessly, "I didn't expect to see you until later tonight."

"I'd figured I'd keep you company while your relatives brown nosed away downstairs," Loki observed the scene before him in amusement. "But it seems you're already being sufficiently entertained. Perhaps I should return later."

"Don't be silly," Harry dragged Loki to the chair, "Dobby was just leaving. Weren't you Dobby?"

The house elf looked upset, but he nodded anyway. "Of course, Harry Potter."

"Excellent. But Dobby," he paused in the act of teleporting away, "I will be going to Hogwarts this year, so please don't try and stop me."

Dobby must have seen something in the look on Harry's face as his tiny shoulder slumped and he nodded once, then popped away.

"What was that about?" Loki asked.

"Nothing." Harry waved the odd event aside as he grabbed his plate and settled down at his father's feet. "Just some crazy house elf. So what have you been doing in Asgard? Has Uncle Thor gotten into any trouble since you last visited?"

Loki sighed heavily "Your oaf of an uncle is _always_ getting into trouble," he said. "Why just the other day he got so thoroughly smashed he almost started a war with all of Vanaheim."

* * *

"Welcome students, new and old, to another year at Hogwarts. I have many announcements, most of which you should be familiar with by now, but now is not the time for them, so, please, dig in."

The sorting ceremony had just concluded and Ron's little sister Ginny had, as expected, been sorted into the house of the lions. Harry, Draco, Blaise, and Hermione moved to the Gryffindor table to meet the youngest Weasley and enjoy the feast with their Gryffindor friends.

"Guys, this is Ginny," Ron said when their small group had settled down at the table. "My little sister."

Everyone greeted the redheaded girl and introduced themselves, but she seemed to have eyes for no one but Harry, much to his discomfort and Draco's amusement, if the blonde's smirk was anything to go by.

"So what to do you guys think of our new DADA professor?" Neville asked once introductions were out of the way

"I think he'll be brilliant," Hermione said, an odd smile stretched across her face as she looked up at the new professor.

"Lockhart?" Blaise asked. "Hermione are you kidding? The man's a fraud."

"Blaise is right," Harry agreed, "I tried reading his books, they're all rubbish,"

Hermione's cheeks flushed red. "Why do you say that?" she asked.

"Well his books don't exactly match up," Harry said absently, more focused on his food than the conversation at hand. "The dates in some of them overlap, he'll say he's off fighting a werewolf in one place, but he's battling with a ghoul halfway across the world at the same time. Plus there are no reliable sources for anything he says, the only proof of his deeds are in his books, and, well, they're not exactly unbiased."

"The overlapping dates are probably just a mix-up, and I'm sure if you looked hard enough you'd find proof of his accomplishments,"

"You wouldn't," Draco refuted. "Lockhart is a fraud, he probably wiped the memory of the people who really accomplished the deeds in his books and took credit for himself, you're just too blinded by your hero worship of him to see it. People claim that you're the brightest witch of our age, Granger, so act like it,"

And with that the conversation was over.

* * *

The day after the Welcoming Feast, on the first day of term, right after lunch, the group of six had settled in the slightly overcast courtyard before their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year to read or discuss Quidditch. Harry was one of those who were reading, well actually, he was quietly laughing at Lockhart's _Voyage's with Vampires, _but his quiet mockery was interrupted when he got the unpleasant feeling that someone was watching him.

Pulling away from the book, Harry looked around the courtyard and made eye contact with a short, brown haired boy standing barely five feet away.

"A-alright, Harry?" the boy stammered , blushing bright red when the rest of the group turned to stare at him.

"Hello," Harry smiled kindly. "You're Colin Creevey, right? You were sorted into Gryffindor?"

The boy looked astonished that Harry knew who he was. "Y-yes, I was," the first year took a tentative step forward. "D'you think- would it be all right if…can I have a picture?" he asked, hopefully raising the camera he gripped tightly in his hands.

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you," Colin said eagerly. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me about how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead," his eyes raked Harry's hairline. "And a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll _move,_" Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, "It's _amazing _here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you," he looked imploringly at Harry, "maybe one of your friends could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, the boy reminded them of their first meeting with Hermione and the long excited rant she'd spoken to them in one long breath, that was probably why he was finding it so hard to turn him down.

"I guess a photo would be alright." Harry finally agreed.

Draco laughed incredulously. "You're actually going to do it? Are you going to sign it as well?" he teased. "Maybe we should start selling signed photos of you, we'd make a good galleon off of them."

"Who's giving out signed photos?"

Harry only barely managed to suppress a groan when Lockhart swept toward the little group in a swirl of violently turquoise robes, the man was beyond annoying. Earlier that day he had cornered Harry with the intent of offering him lessons on, of all things, how to be a celebrity. The encounter had only strengthened Harry's belief that whatever the man was using to keep his teeth so white must have been harmful for his brain.

"Ah, I shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!"

"Fancy that, Professor. It's quite odd isn't it? It's not as if we attend the same school or anything."

Harry masked his mockery with a charming smile, but he needn't have even bothered, Lockhart was obviously too dense to notice as his million watt smile didn't dim in the slightest. "Come on then, Mr. Creevey," Lockhart pulled Harry tightly to his side. "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll _both_ sign it for you."

Before the boy could raise his camera, Harry slipped out of his professor's grasp and moved away from him. "Actually, Professor, Colin asked to take a picture _with_ me, not of me, but if you could perhaps take the picture that would be much appreciated."

Harry felt a smug sense of satisfaction when Lockhart's smile became slightly less blinding to the eye. "Of course," he said. "Get in there, Mr. Creevey."

Colin eagerly shoved his camera into Lockhart's hands and ran to Harry's side, the raven haired Slytherin threw an arm around the younger boy's shoulders and smiled at the camera. And if the smile came out just a bit smug…well, Lockhart's expression was just _too_ amusing.

* * *

"That man," Hermione snarled, throwing herself in the empty seat beside Harry at the Slytherin table, "is an absolute _fool_, and to think I admired him!"

"You just got out of his class?" Harry questioned.

"_Yes_," Hermione all but hissed the word.

"Cornish pixies?" Neville asked sympathetically.

"He set them loose on the class before he even tried to teach us the spell that would immobilize them, but what was worse the spell didn't even _work_. _Peskipiksi Pesternomi_," she snorted disdainfully. "What an idiot."

"Well, at least we won't have to deal with your silly fangirling over the man any longer."

"Oh, shut it Malfoy."

* * *

The first time Harry ever questioned his sanity (though it certainly wouldn't be the last) occurred several weeks after the start of term. Hermione and Harry were making their way back to their common rooms after a long study session in the library, animatedly discussing the possible uses of a new spell they had learned in Transfiguration when a soft voice echoed through the halls.

"_Come…" _it hissed, _"come to me… Let me rip you...Let me tear you…Let me kill you…_"

Harry stopped dead "What the hell?"

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Didn't you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Harry remained absolutely still as he waited to hear the voice again, but he didn't. Finally he shook his head and began to move again "Never mind," he said, "I must have imagined it."

Even as he tried to convince himself, a little niggling feeling in the back of his mind told him he hadn't, and unfortunately, it was right.

* * *

_**The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.**_

_**Enemies of the heir, beware.**_

Harry suppressed a shiver as he read the message written across the blank wall in what looked suspiciously like blood. Hanging from her tail from the torch bracket nearest the message, was Mrs. Norris, the caretaker Filch's cat. All around him, students whispered about the ominous message on the wall and the cat that looked, in every sense of the way, dead as a doornail.

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Harry winced when he heard Filch approach, when he saw his cat, all hell was going to break loose.

Filch shouldered his way through the crowd, shouting insults at anyone he passed as he did, but the moment he saw his cat hanging from the bracket, all insults ceased and he stumbled back in horror. "My cat!" he cried. "My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?"

Only seconds after the man's anguished outburst, Dumbledore arrived on the scene, followed by a number of the professors. The group drew short when they saw the message, horror written clear as day on their faces.

Dumbledore quickly got a hold on his emotions and moved forward to carefully detach Mrs. Norris from the torch. "Come with me, Argus," he said face grim. In fact everyone looked decidedly grim, everyone but Lockhart. The man was bouncing around the scene a broad grin on his face.

"My office is nearest, Headmaster," he said eagerly "just upstairs. Please feel free…"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore, though Professors McGonagall and Snape and a sobbing Filch weren't far behind.

"The Chamber of Secrets," Hermione whispered after the professor's had disappeared around the corner. "What does that mean? What is it?"

"What, the omniscient Hermione Granger doesn't know?" Harry teased. "Honestly, you should really read Hogwarts: A History."

Hermione glowered and stuck her tongue out at him.

"So does that mean you know what it is?" Ron asked.

The Slytherin shrugged his shoulders. "More or less," he said. "There wasn't much on it, and the little there was was full of rumors and speculation, but that's because Salazar Slytherin is the only person who knows anything about the Chamber of Secrets, or if it even exists."

Harry noticed that his friends weren't the only ones listening, every student who had been present to see the spectacle with Filch and Dumbledore was now watching him, fortunately, he wasn't one to have sudden bouts of stage fright.

"As we all know, Slytherin, like many old blooded families today, wished to be more _selective _about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He disliked taking students of muggle parentage, believing them to be unworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.

"But, the story goes that, before his departure, Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing about. Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

"Great," Hermione scoffed, "just another normal year at Hogwarts."

* * *

"Do you remember that crazy house elf that visited me on my birthday?"

Loki shifted his position on the four poster so as to get a better view of Harry. After that one time he'd spent the night watching over his son, Loki found himself doing it more often than he once had, especially with the sudden attacks on the school.

"Yes," he said softly, "I remember."

"Well, I don't think he's half as crazy as I led myself to believe," Harry craned his head to look up at his father. "He tried to warn me away from Hogwarts, he told me that something was going to happen, but I ignored him, wrote him off as crazy, but…"

"But he was right all along."

"Exactly."

"Perhaps he was," Loki said. "Crazy that is. But even the most brilliant people have their moments of madness."

Harry laughed softly. "No, I think he was just mad. But crazy or not he knew what he was talking about."

"What is troubling you, little trickster?" Loki asked, picking up on Harry's heavy tone.

"I'm just worried is all." Harry sighed. "Ron, Neville, and Hermione are considered to be blood traitors and 'mudbloods' by those of pureblood, the two kinds of people Slytherin strived to keep out of Hogwarts and, if he or she really exists, the people the Heir of Slytherin will set his monster on. I want to protect them, but I don't know what I'm trying to protect them from, and it's just so…"

"Frustrating? Horrible? The worst feeling in the world?" Loki pressed a kiss to the top of Harry's head. "I know the feeling."

* * *

As they moved further into the year, the attacks progressed from petrifying the caretakers cat to petrifying the students. Colin Creevey had been the first to be attacked, he was found in the middle of the night, presumably heading back to the common room after a failed attempt at finding the Slytherin common room, the only clue as to what had attacked him was the twisted, melted lump that had once been his beloved camera. After Colin there was a double attack, Justin Finch-Fletchley and, to everyone's horror, Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor. His petrification caused perhaps the greatest amount of fear, for if a ghost wasn't safe from the Heir of Slytherin, who was?

Tensions were at an all time high for everyone, but Harry was perhaps the most affected, he was now hearing the strange hissing voice whispering chilling threats on a weekly basis. He was convinced that whoever or whatever he was hearing was behind the attacks, as he usually heard the invisible being right before another student was found petrified. He was searching tirelessly to find out what it was he could be hearing, but so far his search had resulted in nothing but several nights spent without sleep and a group of very worried friends.

"Harry Potter! Where have you been?" Harry looked up from his book on dangerous magical creatures and found himself facing an angry and concerned looking Hermione flanked by Ron, Neville, Draco, and Blaise. "We've been looking for you everywhere."

"What?"

"You missed dueling club, mate," Ron said. "You told us you'd meet up with us when it started, but you never showed up."

"I didn't miss it," Harry denied. "It's not for another…" he looked down at his watch and winced when he realized the time. "Oh."

"This is getting out of hand, Potter," Draco scowled. "We know you want to find out what Slytherin's monster is to, for some reason, _keep us safe from it_, but you're going to kill yourself doing it and then what good would you be to us?"

"Draco-"

"Shut up, Potter," the blonde snatched the book from Harry's hand and began shoving it and the rest of the books scattered across the library table into his bag. "You've done enough research for today."

"But-"

"I said, shut up. Now, we're going to take you to the Great Hall and get some food into you, Merlin knows the last time you ate a full meal, and then we're going to the lake where we'll teach you everything we learned today in dueling club. I don't know how you plan on protecting us if you don't even know how to protect yourself."

And with that, Draco hauled Harry out of his seat and dragged him to the Great Hall, where he proceeded to shove every food item in sight down Harry's throat until the dark haired Slytherin threatened to throw up all over his new shoes.

* * *

Hermione had been petrified.

It happened in mid-May, not even a month before the end of term, and Harry couldn't help but blame himself for it.

After Draco's intervention all those months ago, Harry's friends had taken to accompanying him to the library in order to limit the amount of time he spent researching and tell him when enough was enough. But even they had been researching excessively after Hagrid was arrested and taken to Azkaban on the charges of opening the Chamber (apparently he'd been accused of opening it the first go round and that was why he'd been expelled from Hogwarts).

They'd been there the night he was arrested, the group of second years had been visiting him for a late night cup of tea when Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy, and the Minister of Magic arrived. Upon hearing the three men's arrival, Harry, Neville, and Draco hid themselves under the invisibility cloak Harry had taken to carrying everywhere with him, and Hermione, Blaise, and Ron hid under Hagrid's massive bed. The six listened in silent disbelief as Dumbledore was suspended from his position as Hogwarts' headmaster and Hagrid was accused of opening the Chamber of Secrets and unleashing the monster on defenseless student. Despite the headmaster's protests, Hagrid was carted off to Azkaban, but not before the gamekeeper announced to no one in particular that if they wanted to find the truth, then all they needed to do was follow the spiders.

Well, they followed the spiders, it wasn't that hard considering the fact that every spider anywhere on the grounds was heading in a mass exodus away from the school and into the Forbidden Forest. They followed the blasted spiders directly to a colony of acromantulas who, after telling them that Hagrid was innocent (as if they hadn't known that already) and that whatever was lurking in the school was a spider's greatest fear, tried to eat them. If it wasn't for Harry's ability to conjure a vicious wall of flames that held back the giant spiders as they fled, the six second years would have been acromantula food.

Hagrid's arrest led Harry, Hermione, Neville, Blaise, Draco, and Ron to spending every moment they weren't eating, sleeping, or in class trying to discover the mystery of the Chamber so that they could clear his name.

The day Hermione was petrified, she and Harry were working in the library while the others were taking a break out by the lake.

"Oh my goodness, Harry," Hermione whispered excitedly rousing him from the stupor he'd fallen into while reading a dreadfully boring report on Chimaeras.

"What? What is it? Have you found the monster?" he asked straightening in his seat.

"No, but I think I've found a clue."

"What?"Harry asked excitedly, a clue wasn't the answer, but it was a start.

"We've already established that the strange voice only you've been able to hear must have something to do with the identity of the monster."

"Yeah."

"Well, maybe you're _not_ the only one who can hear it, but you're the only one who can understand it," the brunette pushed her borrowed copy of Hogwarts: A History on top of the book Harry was reading and pointed at the section on the four founders, or more specifically, Salazar Slytherin. "I was reading this in hopes that I could find something in the passage that could clue us in on what Slytherin's monster could be."

"And did you?"

"Somewhat. It says that Slytherin was famous for being one of the first blood purists as well as having the ability to speak parseltongue, the language of snakes. So what if his monster is some kind of snake? If it was, only he or one of his heirs would be able to understand, and more importantly, _control_ it."

"And you think _I_ can speak _parseltongue_?"

"You could very well be related to Slytherin on your father's side, the Potters were a very old pureblood family, in fact I'd be surprised if you _weren't_ distantly related to Slytherin."

Harry couldn't tell her that her hypothesis was wrong without telling her that he wasn't a Potter, at least not by blood, so he nodded and quickly moved the subject along. "Okay, say you're correct, and I am a parseltongue-"

"Parselmouth," Hermione corrected "Parseltongue is the language,"

"Okay, say I am a parselmouth, what kind of snake are we dealing with?"

"I don't know, I've never heard of a snake whose venom could petrify a person, let alone a ghost."

Harry froze as a thought struck him. "Who says it's venom that petrified them?" he whispered.

"Well what else could it be?"

Harry dove into his backpack and pulled out an old text he'd borrowed from the library, he quickly flipped to the passage he was looking for and paused to read it. "Listen to this," he said, and then began to read aloud from the book. "Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it."

"Hagrid said his roosters have been being killed off," Hermione whispered thoughtfully. "And the spiders…Oh my goodness Harry! But if it's a basilisk how has no one died? They've only been petrified."

"That's because no one's looked it directly in the eye. Colin saw it through his camera, Justin must've seen the basilisk through Nearly Headless Nick, Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn't die again, and Mrs. Norris, I don't know if you noticed but the floor was covered in water that night, she must have seen its reflection in the water."

"We need to tell someone, Harry."

Harry nodded. "Go to Professor McGonagall," he told her, "I'll get the others and I'll meet up with you."

"All right, hurry."

Before Hermione could run out of the library, Harry grabbed her wrist. "Wait," he transfigured a sheet of parchment into a mirror. "Use this to look around corners, just in case."

"Brilliant idea," Hermione gave him a quick hug. "Be careful, Harry," then she dashed off.

Harry followed soon after with a mirror of his own, having to use the mirror to look around corners slowed him down considerably, but he eventually made it out of the school and out to the lake.

"Hey, mate!" Ron called being the first to notice him. "Come to join us?"

Harry shook his head. "We found out what Slytherin's monster is," he said. "No time to explain, I came to get you so we can tell McGonagall."

No one wasted any time asking questions, they simply gathered their things and followed Harry back up to the school. They managed to make it to the third floor before Harry heard a sound that made his blood freeze.

"_Kill this time… let me rip… tear…"_

"Oh no," he groaned, picking up the pace.

"What is it, Harry?" Neville asked.

Harry stopped their little progression. "Listen," he said, "tell me what you hear."

"_Hungry…so hungry…"_

"I hear something," Blaise said softly. "It sounds weird like a broken pipe or…"

"Or hissing," Harry said grimly.

The dark skinned boy looked at him in surprise. "Exactly. You can hear it to?"

"In a way."

"_Blood…filthy blood…not fit to eat…"_

Harry cursed and took off down the hall, following the voice that was steadily getting fainter, he was so focused on tracking the voice by ear he didn't notice the body until he tripped over it and went sprawling to the ground.

"Harry, are you all…" Neville's concerned voice trailed off into a strangled sort of gasp when he noticed the body.

"Oh, Merlin." Ron whispered.

Harry didn't need to look behind himself to know who he had tripped over, the familiar little mirror that rested on the ground told him everything he needed to know.

Hermione had fallen victim to the basilisk.

* * *

"Harry you need to sleep."

Harry ignored his father and continued flipping through his book.

"Harry it's much too late for you to be up researching, go to sleep."

"No."

"Haraldr, _sleep._"

Harry paused at the stern order. "I can't," he whispered, "Hermione needs me."

"Not like this. You're of no use to anyone in such a condition."

"I'm fine."

Loki grabbed the twelve year old by the shoulders and forced him to face him. "No you are _not_," he said angrily. "You haven't eaten in days and you haven't slept in longer, this is not healthy. You'll kill yourself if you continue on like this."

Harry glared down at his lap. "Would I?"

"Pardon?"

"Would I kill myself? Can I even die?"

"We all die."

"You know what I mean."

Loki sighed. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I mean, _I don't know_. Your mother's mortal blood is tainting my Asgardian blood, making it difficult to read."

"When _will_ we know?"

"Most likely when you reach maturity, Asgardians age far slower than mortals when they reach adulthood. If you all but stop aging then we know your Asgardian blood is dominant, if you continue to age…"

"Then I'll age and die like a mortal."

"No!" Loki snarled. "No, you will not be dying."

Harry laughed hollowly. "It's not as if I have a choice."

"I will not see you die, little trickster."

Harry looked up at his father and for the first time Loki saw the fear he harbored reflecting in his eyes, Harry truly did not want to die, not because he desired immortality but because he feared what would happen to his father if he did. "Promise?" he asked in a small voice.

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

Harry laughed softly as he recalled the day he'd made the childish promise to his father. "Stick a needle in my eye."  
Loki grinned and hooked pinkie fingers with his son. "I swear to you, I will not lie."

* * *

Harry rushed over to the library table his friends were seated around, startling them away from their books. "Moaning Myrtle's bathroom." he said face flushed and breathless with excitement.

Draco snapped his book shut and squinted up at Harry. "What?"

"The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in the second floor girl's loo, Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

Ron, Neville, Blaise, and Draco gaped at Harry in astonishment. "Wha-How did you come to that?" Neville managed to say.

Harry slapped an old newspaper down onto the table. "I was going through the libraries newspaper archives earlier today, I wanted to see if there was anything about the first time the Chamber was opened and there was. It was first opened in 1942, and like now, the school was at risk of being shut down because of the petrifications of students, the school was saved when a student named Tom Riddle turned Hagrid in."

"Wanker," Ron muttered.

"Hagrid was expelled, but not before one student was killed in the very bathroom she still haunts today."

"Harry you're brilliant," Blaise grinned as he read over the article.

Ron stood up and began gathering his books. "We have to tell, McGonagall."

"Yes, because she was so much help when we told her about the basilisk." Draco sneered.

"There was nothing she could do, she didn't know _where_ the basilisk was. Now it's different."

Draco was stopped from responding when McGonagall's voice echoed throughout the library. "All students are to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please."

"Another attack?" Neville asked.

"We've never been sent to our dorms before."

Harry felt a growing sense of trepidation. "Come on," Harry threw his bag over his shoulder and hurried from the library.

"Where are we going?" Blaise asked.

"The staff room, we have to tell McGonagall."

The five boys raced up several flights of stairs and down the hall to the staff room, but they hesitated when they Lockhart ran out of the room and past them with not even a glance in their direction.

In his departure, he left the door open just a crack, but enough for them to hear McGonagall's voice float into the hall. "It has happened," they heard her say. " A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the chamber itself."

There were stunned noises from the room, then Professor Snape asked, "How can you be sure?"

"The Heir of Slytherin left another message. Right underneath the first one. _'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.' _"

"Who is it?" asked Madam Hooch. "Which student?"

"Ginny Weasley," said Professor McGonagall.

Ron made a noise that sounded like a mix between a strangled gasp and a tortured moan.

"Ron," Harry whispered, reaching out to grab his friend before he collapsed, but the boy stumbled back several steps and looked at Harry with such a horrible expression of pain, he almost flinched away from him. And then Ron turned and ran away.

"Tell McGonagall everything we found out," Harry said, then turned and chased after Ron.

* * *

Harry was cursing his stupidity and all around bad luck as he stared down the wraith like figure that was slowly gaining more substance by the minute. After chasing Ron down to Myrtle's bathroom and finding exactly where the entrance was, he proved Hermione's deduction at least partially correct by ordering the entrance to open in parseltongue, when the sinks slid to the side he and Ron leapt fearlessly into the long dark tunnel that led them miles beneath the school and directly into the Chamber. That's just about when everything went wrong.

Ron, who's wand was a hand me down from Charlie that never really worked properly for him, attempted a _lumos_ but instead of lighting the tip with a soft light as it should have, his wand sent of several bright red sparks that seemed harmless until they hit the stone roof. The resulting collapse of the ceiling was enormous and left the two boys stranded on opposite sides. Harry had contemplated moving the rocks with his magic, but quickly discarded the idea, not only did it have the potential to cause another collapse, but he wouldn't be able to move enough rocks to create a path for Ron without tiring himself out, and if he was facing a basilisk in his near future he needed to be at his best. So after a quick discussion with Ron, he moved deeper into the Chamber, which led him to the position he was in now. Listening as the sixteen year old memory of Lord Voldemort boasted to Harry, basically giving away all of his plans like the stereotypical super villain, with Ginny Weasley laying pale, and corpse-like at his feet.

As Voldemort, or Riddle in his current form, spoke, Harry focused on formulating a plan, he had to get both himself and Ginny out alive while evading the basilisk that was sure to be lurking around somewhere. On top of that, he had to find a way to get rid of Riddle, because if he didn't do it now the bastard was sure to turn up at the worst time imaginable. That was just the way it was with villains.

Harry was so deep in thought, he didn't realize Riddle had stopped speaking until he looked in his direction and found him watching him with a large amount of irritation.

He shook his head a bit, clearing it of the fog that had fallen as Riddle spoke. "Sorry, that was kind of a long speech, I think I zoned out somewhere in the middle, but I'm pretty sure I found my way back by the end. You said something about me defeating you, and the greatest wizard of all time, but what was the question again?"

"How?" Riddle snarled.

"How did I defeat you?" Harry shrugged. "Well you're not near as great as you think you are, I reckon I have more power in my pinkie finger than you do running through your entire body."

"Is that what you think?" Harry nodded. "Well, let's see how mighty you feel after facing my pet," Riddle turned and looked up at the enormous statue of Salazar Slytherin glaring down at them. "_Speak to me Slytherin_," he hissed in parseltongue, "_greatest of the Hogwarts four_."

With a deep, creaking rumble, Slytherin's mouth slid open and, as Harry watched in fascinated horror, something deep inside of it stirred and slowly slithered out.

When the head of the enormous snake became visible, Harry conjured a blindfold and tied it around his eyes, then, with a deep exhalation, spread his magic so he could "see" the magical auras in the room, a useful skill that he had never needed to use, until now that is.

Ginny's weakening aura indicated that she was still only a few feet away from him, lying prone on the ground, while Riddle's dark aura hung above her, a thin string connected them, drawing magic from Ginny and siphoning it into Riddle. Harry tore his eyes from the horrible sight and looked at the snake, the thing was enormous, easily sixty feet long and pulsing with a poisonous green aura.

"All right," Harry muttered to himself, he with one hand he drew his wand and with the other he drew the dagger Loki had gifted him, "let's kill us a basilisk,"

It took several cutting curses aimed at the horrible creature's eyes and an Asgardian blade through the roof of its mouth to kill the basilisk, and even then, Harry still felt as if he had lost, or maybe that was just the basilisk venom coursing through his veins talking.

"You're dead, Harry Potter," Harry heard Riddle's voice from a distance, as if he were speaking through a tunnel. "The basilisk venom will kill you in minutes, and I'm going to sit here and watch as you die. Take your time. I'm in no hurry."

Harry fell to his knees beside Ginny and the diary, his bloodless fingers shook but, somehow, he managed to keep a hold on his dagger.

"So ends the famous Harry Potter," Riddle whispered. "Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You'll be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry. She bought you twelve years of borrowed time, but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must."

"What did I tell you earlier?" Harry managed to gasp. "You're not near as great as you think you are," then he slammed his venom coated dagger into the cover of the diary.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing, and then he was gone.

The knife fell from his limp fingers and Harry collapsed into the puddle of ink, he no longer had the strength to hold himself up.

"Dad," he whispered hoarsely, "Dad, I need you."

For a moment, all was still and Harry feared that he would die alone, just as Riddle had predicted, but then there was a flash of green and gold and suddenly Loki was there kneeling in the ink and blood beside him.

"Where is it?" he asked frantically. "Where are you hurt? What do I need to fix?"

"'s not something you can fix," Harry gasped. "Basilisk bit me."

"Where? Where is it, Harry?"

"Arm."  
Loki gently grabbed the injured arm and pushed back the tattered, blood soaked sleeve. He gasped when he took in the severity of the injury, but he pushed aside his growing horror and placed a hand over the bloody wound. Carefully, he began siphoning the poison from Harry's blood, but with all of the venom that slowly joined the ink and blood on the ground, Harry could still feel so much more mingling with his blood.

"It's not working," Loki growled in frustration. "Why isn't it working?"

Harry felt something hot and wet his face, he looked up and realized with a jolt that his father was _crying._

"It's okay," he whispered. "It doesn't hurt that bad anymore."

"No! I will not let you die."

"W-will you tell Uncle Thor about me? About how much I loved all of the stories about-about him and how bull headed and absolutely Gryffindor he is?"

"You will tell him yourself," Loki snarled.

Harry gasped when the fire raging in his body faltered and something cold, and brutal, and not _human_ attacked, and suddenly fire and ice were at war, fighting a bloody and brutal battle with his body as the battleground. His body writhed in pain and screams tore themselves from his throat, the pain was unbearable, he was hot and cold all at the same time and he wished it would just end. Finally, after what felt like ages, the ice beat the fire into submission and the last of the venom drained from Harry's wound. But instead of settling back into the dormant state it had been in before, the ice spread through Harry's veins as the fire had, twining with his magic. However, unlike the fire, the ice didn't feel particularly bad, it felt safe.

"Harry?" Loki cried pulling the small boy into his arms. "Harry?"

"I'm all right," the twelve year old whispered, "I'm fine."

And suddenly Loki was crushing him to his chest, running trembling fingers through his hair and gently rocking back and forth. "Oh, thank you," he whispered. "I thought I lost you."

"I'm fine," Harry assured him. "I'm fine. You did it, you healed me."

As Loki slowly regained control over his emotions, he looked down at his son confusion in his eyes. "Harry," he said, "that wasn't me."

Before Harry could find the words to respond, a soft moan sounded behind them, reminding Harry that they weren't alone. "Dad, you have to go."

"As if you could make me leave after you almost died."

"Dad, Ginny will see you and all of those years spent keeping this a secret will be for nothing."

Loki glared at Harry, but there was a look of resignation shining in his eyes. "I will remain close," then he disappeared.

The moment he was gone, Harry scrambled to his feet and hurried to Ginny's side just as her eyes fluttered open. She looked at the huge form of the dead basilisk in confusion, then over to Harry, in his blood-soaked robes, then to the diary lying beside him. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face. "What have I done?" she whispered.

"Nothing," Harry said firmly. "None of this was your fault," he grabbed the diary and held it up so she could see the gaping hole punched straight through it. "And the person who's behind it is no longer around to cause any more trouble."

"But it was me," Ginny wept as Harry helped her to her feet, "I'm the one who did it. I'm going to be expelled! I've looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I'll have to leave and…w-what'll Mum and Dad say?"

Harry gently led the sobbing girl from the Chamber and down the dark tunnel, it took them several long minutes to get through the tunnel, made even longer by Ginny's slow pace, but eventually they made it back to the cave in.

"Ron," Harry called, "Ginny's all right, I've got her."

He heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he had managed to make in the rock wall.

"Ginny!" Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull her through first. "You're alive! I don't believe it! What happened? I heard the most horrible noises coming from down the tunnel, but I couldn't be sure what was going on."

"I'll explain once we get out of here." Harry said once he had shimmied through the gap. "Now come on, I don't want to be here a second longer than we have to be."

Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe. "Have you thought how we're going to get back up this?" he asked Ron, who shook his head. Sighing softly, Harry reached out and placed a hand on the wall, he could feel latent magic running through them.

"_Up,_" he hissed in parseltongue, nothing happened. "Um, all right _stairs_?" with a low rumble, stairs pulled from the wall, giving the group of three an easy path up.

"Up we go then."

The trek to the top of the pipe was long and exhausting, they must have been miles under the school, and was made in complete silence. When they finally reached the top, Harry hissed the password to reopen the entrance and they climbed out of the pipe, only to be accosted by both Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, the Weasley parents, Moaning Myrtle, and Neville, Draco, and Blaise.

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley screamed and grabbed her daughter into hug, Mr. Weasley soon joined in. "Oh, thank Merlin, you're safe."

"Harry got to me just in time, Mum," the redheaded first year said.

And suddenly Harry found himself in a bone crushing hug. "You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that." Professor McGonagall said placing a hand over her heaving chest.

"Could we perhaps go to somewhere a bit more comfortable?"

"Professor Lockhart's office is close by, and as of now it's empty."

"What happened to Lockhart?" Ron asked.

"We gave him the task of finding Miss Weasley and he, unfortunately, fled," McGonagall didn't sound as if she would miss the blonde author in the slightest.

The unusual group trouped to the man's empty office, and settled down to listen to Harry's tale. He, for the most part, told them everything, only leaving out his injury and Loki's presence.

"You mean to tell us, you killed a sixty foot basilisk," McGonagall asked incredulously, "with a _dagger_?"

"Yes, ma'am." Harry nodded.

"May we see this dagger?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry hesitated for a moment before reluctantly pulling the dagger from the sheath tucked under his sleeve and handed it to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore studied the knife carefully, testing the balance, examining the hilts design, and holding it only inches away from his eye.

"I cannot be certain what metal this is," he finally concluded, "as it is nothing I am familiar with, although it looks goblin forged. I do know, however, that whatever this blade is made from, the element has absorbed the venom, making this a very dangerous weapon," he looked at Harry over his half moon spectacles. "Wherever did you get such a tool, Mr. Potter?"

"My aunt gave it to me," Harry lied smoothly, "right before I left for Hogwarts. She said it was my mother's, that she carried it with her everywhere before her death, so I've done much the same."

"I never noticed," Dumbledore smiled kindly at Harry. "As I said, this is a dangerous weapon, perhaps I should hold onto it for you, just until you're a bit older."

"No," Harry said sharply. "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but that is the one of the only things I have left of my mother and I will not entrust it to anyone but myself. If it is my safety or the safety of the students you are worried about, I will take it home and leave it there, but I'm afraid I can't allow you to keep it."

Dumbledore's kind smile dimmed just a fraction. "No, I understand, dear boy. And there is no need to leave it home, I trust you to handle it responsibly."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry retrieved his dagger and quickly slipped it back into its sheath.

After that, the conversation quickly turned to Ginny's possession and the diary that had caused so much trouble. When that had concluded, Ginny and her parents left for the infirmary and McGonagall went to the kitchens to prepare a late night feast. Harry and his friends left soon after her, following the three Weasley's path to the infirmary. The mandrake potion needed to wake the petrified had been finished that afternoon which meant Hermione would be woken up soon, and they wanted to be there to tell her all about what had gone on while she was unaware.

* * *

**A/N: This one came out a bit choppy as well, but hopefully as the years progress and I get more used to writing them, they'll get better. **


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